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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28656186">Behind The Scenes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsarinaTorment/pseuds/TsarinaTorment'>TsarinaTorment</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Thunderbirds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Amnesia, Boats and Ships, Brains/Mechanic in chapter 32, Bullying, Canonical Character Death, Drabbles, Family, Gen, Guns, Kidnapping, Military bros - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Short Stories, Some AUs, Songfic, Wasp - Freeform, and crossovers, dcmk xover is chapters 3 and 41, op xover is chapter 29, pjo xover is chapter 4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:27:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>25,046</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28656186</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsarinaTorment/pseuds/TsarinaTorment</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of random scenes and moments that are too short to be a story in their own right. Characters and genres vary.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>77</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Dream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I've been considering doing this for a while; I have a lot of random scenes or short stories that may or may not ever go anywhere, so I'm giving them a home in this collection. Genres will vary, as will characters. Some will be AU. All of them will have any relevant warnings listed at the start.</p>
<p>In some cases, I might one day come back and expand on it as a full fic in its own right. In others, this is as far as that muse will ever go. If you follow my fic tumblr, most of these will no doubt be familiar.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Written for FabFiveFeb 2020 - Scott and 'dream'</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The advantage of only sleeping for two hours a night, if that, was that he was too exhausted to dream. No dreams meant no nightmares, and it might not be the healthiest coping method in the world, but it worked and as long as he was functional Scott didn't have any intentions of changing it.</p><p>He knew what was awaiting him in the darkest realms of his mind, and had absolutely no desire to revisit any of them.</p><p>The oldest of his night time demons was an avalanche, a monster of snow, ice and boulders tearing down the mountainside and swallowing up the little ski hut whole in its brutal, uncaring manner. That little ski hut always held his family, as it had done in his memories, but unlike the reality of his past none of them survived. Trapped in an endless rhythm of panic, he'd dig for days and days, only for the blankly staring eyes of his family to greet him when he finally – fingers blackened and ready to fall off from frostbite – <em>finally</em> broke through.</p><p>Exploding aircraft were a later addition to the party, but no less potent. Fighter planes exploding with him in it, spitting him down towards the ground where faceless, emotionless men with too many guns and bullets and <em>knives</em> – oh god, the <em>knives</em> – waited to drag him underground. Thunderbirds turning into fireballs with his brothers trapped inside what became a burning tomb. The Zero-X, raining shrapnel down all around him with scraps of IR blue and charcoal smeared crimson all that remained of his father.</p><p>Every mission, every close call his brothers had ever had, lurked in the depths of his mind, waiting for the defencelessness of sleep to open the floodgates and bring them roaring to the surface.</p><p>Compared to those, too many hours of paperwork and less sleep than should be humanely possible to keep him sustained were infinitely preferable.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Another Angle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Random scene from a dark!Tracy AU.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I still think you should come down, John. There's rumours that the White House is currently under attack, and I don't want them to turn their attention to Thunderbird Five while you're in it."</p>
<p>"Dad, <em>if</em> Thunderbird Five comes under attack – and from what I can see, no aid-based organisations have been targeted, only military and government – I'll be better placed to defend International Rescue from up here. If it gets too dangerous, I promise I'll come home." John looked away from his father briefly, his eyes flicking to where Gordon was slumped on the sofa, uncharacteristically still. "Besides, I have EOS. She'll protect me or kick me straight into the space elevator if she thinks I shouldn't be here."</p>
<p>Jeff stifled a grin. The AI had proven somehow capable of getting the ginger into the space elevator against his will, despite not having any limbs to push him with.</p>
<p>"Just be careful," he warned. "I want hourly check ins. If you miss a single one, I'll be straight up there in Thunderbird Three."</p>
<p>"F.A.B." The connection cut.</p>
<p>Up in Thunderbird Five, John sighed and turned away from where his father had been projected, instead looking over at another projection.</p>
<p>"EOS, what's the status of the White House?" he asked.</p>
<p>"I successfully penetrated the last of their defences while you were talking with your father," she informed him, and a rare grin crossed his face. "We are in position to take control at any time."</p>
<p>"Good," he said, his eyes not leaving the holographic form of his brother, motionless in hospital. "If humanity just wants to hurt my brothers, humanity loses its right to nice things." <em>Paralysed. Will never be able to fly again.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Attacked by the man he rescued.</em>
</p>
<p>"Would you like me to proceed?" EOS asked him, lights yellow. They were often yellow, now.</p>
<p>"Yes, EOS. Take them down."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oops? A little experiment into what dark!John might look like... and what might tip him over the edge.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. M.I.A.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Stealth crossover!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Have you found anything, John?" Gordon asked, perched on his bed with the door firmly shut. Technically this should be a full family discussion, but Alan was still hiding in his room, Virgil was hiding in Thunderbird Two's hangar redoing maintenance that didn't need it, Kayo hadn't stopped looking and Grandma was stress-cooking.</p>
<p>Gordon and John always worked together better than anyone gave them credit for, anyway.</p>
<p>"I've found a coincidence I don't like," John confirmed, tapping at something Gordon couldn't see. "Teitan Elementary School, Tokyo had a new transfer student recently-"</p>
<p>"What's an elementary school got to do with anything?" Gordon interrupted, and John glared at him.</p>
<p>"Let me finish," he snapped, and Gordon gulped. Tempers were fraying all too frequently, and if they were going to get <em>anywhere</em>, they needed to work together.</p>
<p>"Sorry," he muttered, and John's glare softened.</p>
<p>"As I was saying, Teitan Elementary had a new transfer student recently. He's an American boy, goes by the name Scott Carpenter."</p>
<p>"<em>What</em>?" Gordon demanded. "That's… <em>Is</em> there an American boy called that?"</p>
<p>"There are several; it's not an uncommon name," John told him. "But this Scott Carpenter… well, here's his school ID." A holographic card flashed up, claiming the boy was seven years old, but that wasn't what instantly caught Gordon's attention.</p>
<p>The kid had bright blue eyes, hair just the reddish side of blond, and distinctive dimples in his cheeks.</p>
<p>"That kid looks just like Scott!" he exclaimed. "Well, if Scott had my hair colour."</p>
<p>"He does," John agreed. A second photo flashed up beside the ID card. "I went digging through our old photos and this is a photo of Scott when he was seven."</p>
<p>"They could be twins," Gordon realised, "if they were the same age." John nodded, a slight frown on his face. "You're right, that's a coincidence I don't like." He stood up. "John?"</p>
<p>"What are you thinking?"</p>
<p>"See if Teitan Elementary School would like to meet an Olympic Champion, would you?" he asked. John frowned.</p>
<p>"You want to meet the kid?"</p>
<p>"Thunderbird One's been stolen, Scott's vanished without a trace, and now there's a student with his face in the nearest school to the rescue site," Gordon retorted. "That's too freaky a coincidence for me <em>not</em> to look into it."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This one does have a little more lying around, and actually some art to go with it, so you might see this coming back later. Who knows, one day I might actually make it into a fic in its own right. In the meantime, have this scene - and kudos if you get the crossover!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Sons of Poseidon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Not so stealth-crossover this time... more like a full AU!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Percy looked at the green behemoth in front of him, and then down at the ground far too far below him – solid ground, not water, sadly – and contemplated whether it would be safer to get in the plane and anger Zeus, or jump and hope for a miracle to stop him landing with a splat.</p>
<p>"Come on!" the dark haired man called, offering him a hand from the lowered access hatch. "Jump; I'll catch you!"</p>
<p>Being caught was <em>not</em> the problem. Getting one of International Rescue's planes zapped by Zeus because a son of Poseidon dared to fly <em>was</em>. Surely there was some water somewhere..?</p>
<p>A search showed that no, there was no water remotely close enough to save him.</p>
<p>"I got this, Virg." The dark haired man was unwillingly chivvied away and a blond man dropped down in his place, offering a hand instead.</p>
<p>Now Percy wasn't even sure he'd be caught if he <em>did</em> try to jump. The blond guy was much skinner.</p>
<p>"I don't do good with planes!" he yelled across, wishing he could just yell <em>I'm a son of Poseidon and Zeus will fry the lot of us if I get in that Thunderbird</em> but knowing that would just get him branded insane.</p>
<p>"What if I told you my zappy uncle gave Thunderbirds a free pass?" the blond man replied back, voice raised to be heard over the howling winds and groaning building.</p>
<p>"What?" Percy must have heard that wrong. He'd <em>know</em> if a demigod was in International Rescue – Chiron would have mentioned <em>that</em>. Besides, no-one was crazy enough to call Zeus their 'zappy uncle'.</p>
<p>"I promise that there will be no lightning bolts striking this plane," the man said. "Brothers' honour. Well, half-brothers' honour; I don't think we have the same Mom."</p>
<p>"<em>What</em>?"</p>
<p>"How about you get in here and we discuss this away from the building that wants to collapse?"</p>
<p>Okay, that was logic. Probably. Still didn't make much sense, but Percy did somewhat want to get away from the building.</p>
<p>He jumped.</p>
<p>Blondie caught him. Brown eyes scrutinised him closely as the hatch raised. Well, that finalised it. Poseidon's kids were all dark haired with eyes of the sea.</p>
<p>"I guess you have questions," the man said. "Name's Gordon, son of Poseidon. Which, as I said, makes us half brothers!"</p>
<p>"Huh?"</p>
<p>"You're Percy Jackson, right? Grandma's mentioned you, although I thought you'd look… older?"</p>
<p>"Grandma?"</p>
<p>"Sally Farmer, daughter of Apollo. Although she's not <em>actually</em> my grandmother by blood – she's Dad's Mom, but as my Dad is <em>actually</em> Waterpops, well, you get it."</p>
<p>"Uh." Percy was still stuck on the <em>son of Poseidon</em> bit. "What?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Son of Poseidon!Gordon is an AU I've had in my head for absolutely ages, and again may well end up with at least more snippets and snapshots, if not a full fic, because it has so much potential. I've done a lot of background worldbuilding for it, too, so... we'll see.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Give Up the Fight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning time!  <b>Implied Character Death</b></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"It's okay, Scotty." Gordon's voice was barely a whisper as he reached out and cupped the side of his eldest brother's face gently, thumb caressing the bloodied skin with butterfly touches. "It's okay." His other hand held his brother's, gripping it tightly enough to be reassuring, but not panicking. "You did good. We're here now." Here too late, probably, but Gordon wasn't going to think about that; not right now. Blue eyes, once vibrant but now dull and clouded, focused on him and he forced himself to smile. "We've got you, Scotty. It's okay. You don't need to fight any more." He didn't let his thumb stop stroking, even as he leaned down and pressed the lightest kiss possible on his brother's brow. "You can relax now, okay? Just relax; we've got you. It's okay."</p>
<p>Scott's resistance melted away, hitched breathing quietening as his eyes oh so slowly eased closed. The hand in Gordon's fell limp and it was then that he let the tears fall, stroking blood-matted hair with now-trembling fingers for a moment before he turned away from the peaceful expression his eldest brother now wore and instead faced his immediate older brother.</p>
<p>Virgil's hands were coated in blood from where they were pressed to the worst wound in Scott's abdomen, desperately trying to keep the pressure on and the precious liquid inside, where it should be. He wasn't having much luck, and Gordon reluctantly ceased his tender comforts to add his hands to the mess.</p>
<p>Chances were, Scott would never wake again, but Gordon couldn't regret coaxing him into sleeping. Not if it meant sparing him the agony of a losing battle.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This was one of those scenes that just sat in my head one day and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it, so I did. It's not going anywhere, but I figured if I had to suffer this, you guys do, too!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Heavy Metal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Alternate pov to one of my favourite canon scenes!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Holding his brother's life in his hands wasn't anything new for Alan, not at this point. He'd scooped John out of the unforgiving void of space, fished Virgil out of the water, and dragged Gordon off of mountains in his short life. Even Scott, once or twice, had needed a hand to hold to haul himself out of a chasm.</p>
<p>But this? This was different. He wasn't <em>there</em>, couldn't feel the warmth of their body through his fingers, his arms, his chest as he held them close and got them out of danger. This time, all he had was a hologram of his brother's 'bird hurtling to the ground in a fatal dive and the glowing numbers in front of his finger as he summoned equation after equation from his mind into reality.</p>
<p>He was good with numbers – like John, Scott would say, ignoring the fact that they were all pilots and had to be <em>good</em> with numbers. It was a point of pride that the one piece of homework his brothers could never find fault with (nor his teachers, although Alan had long since stopped caring what <em>teachers</em> thought of his work) were the ones with numbers. Mathematics, Physics, Game Theory, the numbers always danced into place for him.</p>
<p>He was <em>good</em> at numbers, but as the equations lit up into view and he cut across Scott's concealed panic to tell him what to do, how to escape the fatal dive before it was too late, uninvited doubt crept in. What if he'd got something wrong? Added instead of multiplied. Got a conversion wrong.</p>
<p>Nine Gs, he'd told Scott, and Scott had trusted him. The little hologram sped up, whirring around faster and faster, the magnificent Thunderbird it mimicked homing in on where they stood, but Alan had no fear for himself. Brains, Professor Moffat and the other scientists were a thought, but dwarfed by the what-if that he'd just killed his brother.</p>
<p>Even if he was right, did Scott had room to accelerate enough? The faster he went the less time he had, and the icon was getting lower and lower. Scott counted up in his ear but to Alan the numbers were increasing too slowly. He wouldn't make it, Scott wouldn't make it and it would be his fault.</p>
<p>Scott's count reached nine and Alan was almost hysterical as he ordered him to <em>hit it</em>, hoping and praying his calculations were right and that nine Gs was the magic number. He didn't need the little hologram to tell him where Thunderbird One was now; above the collider Alan could hear the screaming roar of her engines as clearly as if they were home, sat in the den and watching the silver rocket streak into the sky.</p>
<p>Then there was silence.</p>
<p>Time stood still, paralysing Alan as he waited for it to break. Waited for the beautiful red nose of his brother's 'bird to puncture the domed roof above them, one last flash of colour before the reaper came. Waited for the crashing screams of metal meeting metal while Scott cursed in his ear, still fighting to the last.</p>
<p>"Looks like you're good to go."</p>
<p>Scott's voice broke the silence, but it wasn't the desperation he'd feared. The <em>thank you</em> from the other pilot as the passenger plane wheeled away joined with his brother's voice to paint a picture of success, of <em>they're still alive.</em></p>
<p>Amid awkward celebrations with Brains and Professor Moffat, though, he heard it and his world shook again.</p>
<p>"That was close."</p>
<p>It was said under his breath, not meant to be heard by anyone except his 'bird, but Scott's comms were still on and the quiet, shaken sound of his eldest, unflappable, brother had Alan retreating, deflecting praise to Brains and then all the attention because he couldn't deal with it right then, not with the hologram showing Thunderbird One still streaking at speed. Scott hadn't slowed her down at all, or changed direction, and that said more than words ever could.</p>
<p>Alan had done that. He'd pulled Scott into a plan that had almost no chance of working and Scott had trusted him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So I love <i>Heavy Metal</i>. If you follow me on tumblr you'll probably know it's my all-time favourite TAG episode, and this scene is one of the key reasons why. Scott trusting Alan to be right, to get him - and the passenger plane - out of that dive alive? Love it. Love it <i>so much</i>. I could go on for ages about it, but suffice to say, I had to try and prod at it from Alan's pov!</p>
<p>I also find it interesting just how long it took Scott to come back to help TB2, considering he was right there before TB2 ever arrived, and the only reason I can think of is that Scott was just too rattled to slow down immediately afterwards! The episode is wonky on travel times and every thing else, I know, but One was going hella fast when she broke out of that dive, so who knows where she ended up before Scott got her back under control and returned? There's another ficlet in there somewhere, and maybe I'll write it at some point.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Breaking Point</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings: referenced child abuse, canonical character death.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Blood. Blood on his hands, shaking, <em>shaking</em> hands. White skin. Trembling breaths, in and out and in and out. No discernible pattern to it, hyperventilating.</p>
<p>Sally hurried over, trying very hard not to look at the body on the floor despite the horror welling up inside. She knew what a dead body looked like, knew there was nothing she could do. Her grandson, on the other hand, looked to be in a state of shock and needed her now.</p>
<p>"Scott?" He jumped a mile and scrambled back, away from the body.</p>
<p>Away from <em>her</em>.</p>
<p>She made sure her voice was low and calm as she continued. "Scotty, what happened?"</p>
<p>"I-" he started, still shaking, voice as unsteady as the rest of him. "She- I-" Tears welled in his eyes and Sally forced herself to stay still even as her heart screamed for her to wrap her poor, traumatised grandson in her arms and never let him go. The way he was jumping, she suspected he'd have a heart attack if she did.</p>
<p>"Okay, okay," she soothed. "Take a breath, Scott. Can you do that for me?"</p>
<p>He shuddered, but did as he was told. And then another when she continued to coax him into calming down.</p>
<p>Only once his breathing was regular again did she dare approach, kneeling down beside him and slowly reaching for his still shaking, blood stained hands. He let her and she folded her hands around his.</p>
<p>"Scotty?"</p>
<p>He shook his head and started to sob.</p>
<p>"Oh, Scotty." Gently, she pulled him closer and suddenly he was in her arms, sobbing into her chest.</p>
<p>"She-" he gasped. "Virg- I-"</p>
<p><em>Virgil?</em> Sally looked around, but there was no sign of her middle grandson. Just Scott, and the body.</p>
<p>"Where's Virgil?" she asked. He shook his head, or at least she thought he did. He was still trembling. "Scotty, where are your brothers?"</p>
<p>"O-out," he choked. "I- John-" He stopped and took a deep, rattling breath. Sally made a mental note to check him for injuries. "The park. John- he took them."</p>
<p>That wasn't the sort of thing John did. <em>Scott</em> was the one that took his little brothers to the park, not John. John was more likely to stay in the house. Things weren't adding up – at least, not in a way she <em>liked</em>, not in a way that did anything other than grip her heart in a vice.</p>
<p>Not in a way that didn't make her eldest grandson a murderer, and his brother an accomplice.</p>
<p>She looked at the body again, just briefly, before returning her attention to the teenager in her arms.</p>
<p>"What happened, Scotty?"</p>
<p>"She-" he gasped. "I could take it. When- when it was just me. Then- then-" He broke off, but not into more sobs. Not this time. He took a deep breath, and then another, noticeably calming himself.</p>
<p>She waited, not wanting to interrupt his thought processes even though what she was hearing turned her gut cold. So, <em>so</em>, cold. If what he was saying was right… How had she never noticed? How was that <em>possible</em>?</p>
<p>"She turned on Virgil," he said. "Not John, she knew I'd notice that. We share a room. She-" He cut himself off again, burying his head in her shoulder. "<em>She hurt Virgil</em>."</p>
<p>"Oh, Scotty," she sighed, holding him close. "Why didn't you tell someone?"</p>
<p>He started crying again. "Dad- Dad didn't know. He's not here. Never- never here. They- they'd take my brothers <em>away.</em>" It turned into a wail and Scott's full weight crashed against her as he broke down, bloodstained hands clutching at her clothes.</p>
<p>Sally didn't push him any further, rubbing his back and letting him cry. She still couldn't believe what had happened, what she'd <em>missed</em>, things she'd never seen.</p>
<p>Little injuries that, in hindsight, added up to something so much bigger. So many signs she hadn't seen, too <em>blind</em> to see what was happening to her grandson. Grandson<em>s.</em></p>
<p>Her eyes glanced over at the dead body. The woman Scott had killed. The woman who he claimed had hurt him, his brothers, and drove him to something so desperate to save them. Despite everything she believed him, because Scott wouldn't lie. Not about <em>this</em>.</p>
<p>The body of her daughter-in-law.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Random plot idea that proves I've been watching way too many crime dramas recently. I have no plans to turn this into a full-length thing, but the idea just would not leave me alone so you guys get to suffer the what-if, too. Just to clarify, I am classifying this as an AU and have no belief that there is any basis in canon here. It's just a random idea born of too many crime dramas.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Warned</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from janetm74: "I warned you. He warned you. Your freaking mom warned you." and "you gave me a black eye!"</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Ow!" It was a pitiful whine, really. For someone who had been so full of bluster moments earlier, it could even be considered <em>pathetic</em>.</p>
<p>Virgil had no sympathy at all. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his brother stuffing his hand into his pocket, probably still fisted, almost certainly sore. Did his sympathy lie there? Moreso than with the whining jerk in front of him, but in all honesty if Scott was going to keep punching bullies in the face he needed to learn to throw a punch without bruising his knuckles in the process, so the sympathy was minimal.</p>
<p>"I warned you," Scott shrugged. Behind him, Alan was cowering, fists tightly clenching the back of Scott's jacket. "He warned you." A tilt of the head towards Virgil, who - yes - had said that if the jerk didn't leave Alan alone he'd have to deal with Scott. A warning specifically about a punch in the face? No, but Scott had defended enough people from bullies by now it should be common knowledge. "Your freaking <em>mom </em>warned you."</p>
<p>Okay, that was news to Virgil, but the jerk let out a whimper that suggested Scott was right. How Scott knew that-</p>
<p>A flash of ginger around the corner.</p>
<p>Right. John. Virgil wasn't going to question that any further.</p>
<p>"Y-you gave me a black eye!" the jerk whined. Scott shrugged again and turned away, the hand he hadn't thrown the punch with coming to rest protectively on Alan's shoulder.</p>
<p>"Let's go, Allie," he said. "They won't be bothering you again."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. To Protect</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from scribeofred: "Get out of the way before I murder you."</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Violence was not the answer. Mom had taught him that, Dad backing her up with full parental authority. He'd taught it in turn to his brothers, supervised and supported by Grandma when the <em>but whys</em> got too much from little brothers who had just seen a big brother deal with a bully (because violence was not the answer but it was the only language those wastes of space spoke).</p>
<p>Despite his temper, and the occasional bully, Scott believed that, too. Sometimes - <em>sometimes</em> - he slipped, quickfire temper ahead of his conscience. Sometimes Virgil was there to catch him, sometimes he wasn't. So far, any and all violent outbursts had been contained to when he was off-duty, miraculous as that was, and therefore nowhere near IR blue and the PR nightmare that would come of it.</p>
<p>Today was about as close as he'd got. Three - not one, not two, but all <em>three </em>of his Earth-residing brothers - trapped. Guns pointed at them, pointed at him. Gordon bleeding, Virgil doing what he could under gunpoint, Alan trying not to show how terrified he was.</p>
<p>Scott was terrified and furious all in one. His brothers were being threatened. How <em>dare</em> they threaten his brothers. He couldn't do anything about it.</p>
<p>But he <em>could. </em>It was risky, stupid. Too many potentials to go horrendously, <em>horrendously</em> wrong. But then, it already had.</p>
<p>John was in his ear, feeding him information on the assailants, their motive, their history, promising that he was utterly ruining them - violence was not the answer but a little bit of hacking and financial disaster wasn't violence in John's rulebook - assuring him that the GDF were on their way.</p>
<p>The GDF weren't going to be here in time. This wasn't some hostage situation. The only thing they wanted was for him to choose the order in which his brothers died.</p>
<p>Violence wasn't the answer, but Scott had a loaded grapple at his hip and military training. Despite his injury, so did Gordon, and those dark amber eyes of his were burning, flames all but visible in the colour.</p>
<p>"Hurry up and choose!" The leader's hand was dead still, but his teeth were clenched. "No funny business today."</p>
<p><em>No-one's laughing</em>. It was the sort of quip Kayo would make. Gordon would make, if he wasn't sunk deep into his own military mindset.</p>
<p>All eyes were on Scott. The commander, the threat. It made sense.</p>
<p>No-one thought the bleeding aquanaut a threat. No-one except Scott, and when his little brother moved, he did, too. He registered Virgil hitting the deck, Alan dragged down and shielded beneath the middle brother's bulk, as grapples hit guns and guns misfired.</p>
<p>It was over in seconds. Unprepared, their weapons broken, grapple cables wrapped around their attackers and pulled them to the floor.</p>
<p>One was left standing, weaponless in the middle of the sudden carnage, eyes wide. Scott stalked towards him; behind the man, his brothers clustered, Gordon rejoining Virgil and Alan as they cautiously scrambled back to their feet.</p>
<p>"Get out of the way." <em>Before I murder you</em>. Scott didn't say the threat, would never carry it out even if he did, but he didn't need to. The man turned sheet white and scrambled away, all bravado long gone.</p>
<p>Scott let him go; John and the GDF would handle it from there.</p>
<p>He had three little brothers to check over.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Took a bit of liberty with the prompt and didn't use it as exactly written, but military!bros are fun to explore and I couldn't resist. Oops.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Hunted</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt from louthestarspeaker: shuffle playlist and write a drabble for the song that comes up with Scott&amp;Alan. (Song: Hungry Like The Wolf by Duran Duran)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>
  <em>Stalked in the forest, too close to hide<br/>I'll be upon you by the moonlight side<br/>Do do do do do do do dodo dododo dodo<br/>High blood drumming on your skin, it's so tight<br/>You feel my heat, I'm just a moment behind<br/>Do do do do do do do dodo dododo dodo</em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>"Is he gone?" Alan's whisper was barely audible, but it was enough for Scott to hear the way it tremored. He didn't blame him. Fear-fuelled adrenaline was running through his own veins at full blast, not because he was afraid for himself, but because he had Alan with him.</p>
<p>Alan, young, innocent Alan, who could dart through space and haul dying bodies from the worst places in the solar system, but who he'd done his absolute best to shelter from the madmen that existed. The Hood was one thing, but this? This was another.</p>
<p>They'd run, not quite blindly but near enough that it didn't make much of a difference, into the densely-packed forest. Away from the man with the leer and the gun. One bullet had been fired so far, and Scott wasn't admitting to Alan that there was a blood trail leading right to them.</p>
<p>So maybe the bullet that had grazed his shoulder was contributing a little to his adrenaline rush.</p>
<p>"Scott?"</p>
<p>Alan. He had to keep Alan safe. The trees were thickly packed; if he looked up, Scott couldn't see what could be lurking in the branches. As long as the blood trail kept going, no-one would be looking up, either.</p>
<p>"Climb," he ordered, voice no louder than Alan's own breathy whispers. "I'll tell you when it's safe."</p>
<p>"What about you?" They'd taught Alan too well. Most teenagers would be halfway up the tree in the blink of an eye. Not Alan and his Tracy-inherited need to check everyone was fine.</p>
<p>"I'll be fine. Get yourself safe." Luckily, Alan hadn't noticed the blood, or Scott would never have been able to convince him. But little brother was still the baby of the family at the end of the day, and with one last big blue-eyed nod, Alan obeyed.</p>
<p>Scott kept moving, unable to stop and watch because a sudden concentration of blood would catch the attention of anyone halfway competent. He just had to hope and pray that Alan would keep himself hidden.</p>
<p>As for him, he had to find a way out of this mess and get the man neutralised before-</p>
<p>His shoulder screamed before the sound of the rifle firing reached his ears.</p>
<p>-before the man managed to hunt him down.</p>
<p>Too late. Hoping, praying that Alan hadn't heard that, that his baby brother would <em>stay put</em>, he turned to face the barrel of the gun.</p>
<p>Flight was over. Time for fight.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well considering how stalky the song is, I needed to do a bit of twisting to find a premise I was comfortable writing with an underage character, so we went for literal hunting-stalking! Poor Scott - I couldn't resist hurting him...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Crushed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from scribeofred: "I thought there was time."</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>"SCOTT!"</em>
</p>
<p>His name. Shouted, <em>screamed</em> in his ear. It sounded like John, except John hadn't screamed like that, well, ever. Not that Scott could recall, although admittedly there seemed to be a few problems with his recall right then, like why John was screaming at him, and why he couldn't actually see anything.</p>
<p>Where was he, anyway?</p>
<p>A slow blink and the pitch blackness of his surroundings morphed into… more pitch black. But there were shapes, sort of. Night vision was kicking in enough to tell him that he was surrounded by <em>things</em>. His nerves were telling him that, too, and his body was supremely reluctant to mo-</p>
<p><em>Ow</em>, scratch that. His body <em>couldn't</em> move. The <em>things</em> weren't just surrounding him, they were crushing him, and was breathing supposed to be this difficult? Air was rasping in and out of his mouth, lungs compressed by something. The floor?</p>
<p>He was face-down. Helmet on, but the lights were out. Torch at his hip but his arms couldn't move to reach it. Things were jabbing into his back, sharp, pointy and <em>heavy</em>.</p>
<p>Rocks? He'd been in a cave, but that cave had been a lot less <em>cramped</em> and a lot better lit.</p>
<p>"<em>Scott!" </em>John was still shouting for him, deafening in the confines of his helmet and <em>ow,</em> hadn't they agreed no shouting over comms <em>because</em> of that? Not like John to shout. Virgil was more likely.</p>
<p>Virgil.</p>
<p>Where was Virgil?</p>
<p>"<em>Scott! Can you hear me? Scott, answer me! Scott!"</em></p>
<p>John was getting annoyingly insistent and Scott groaned in response.</p>
<p>"<em>Scott?"</em></p>
<p><em>What happened?</em> he tried to ask, but only pained grunts forced themselves up his throat.</p>
<p>"<em>If you can hear me, stay where you are, Scott."</em> John's voice was back to normal volume, if not normal pitch. It was too high, a panic that his little brother normally never let show slipping out. <em>"Virgil's digging his way down to you. It'll take a while because the area's so unstable, but he'll get you out. Just stay still."</em></p>
<p>Well, it wasn't like he could go anywhere. Those rocks - and they had to be rocks, there was no other explanation - had him thoroughly pinned down, and even if they didn't the surrounding rocks were doing a very good job at hemming him in.</p>
<p>Breathing was still not supposed to be this difficult. He wondered if he was injured somewhere. Nothing was jumping out at him but being crushed by rocks was plenty painful enough to hide something, even if they weren't causing it.</p>
<p>"<em>Anything?"</em> That was Virgil, voice strained as though he was exerting himself. Scott frowned.</p>
<p>"<em>Nothing concrete."</em> John paused. <em>"This is my fault. I thought there was time before it collapsed."</em></p>
<p>"<em>We'll work out what went wrong- urgh- later,"</em> Virgil grunted. <em>"Right now let's just focus on getting him out."</em></p>
<p>"<em>You're right,"</em> agreed John in a tone that sounded anything but agreeing. <em>"I'll keep trying to raise him."</em></p>
<p>"<em>Let me know if you get contact,"</em> Virgil huffed. It was easy to imagine him suited up in his exosuit, grabbing at large chunks of rock and shifting them away.</p>
<p>"<em>F.A.B."</em> A pause. <em>"Scott? Can you hear me?"</em></p>
<p>Yes, yes he could, but still all he could vocalise was a grunt. Something was digging into his chest from underneath him, and he realised it was his spare grapple packs on his baldric.</p>
<p>"<em>I'm really hoping that was a yes,"</em> John muttered, seemingly more to himself than to Scott. <em>"Hold on, Scott. Virgil's on his way."</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is one I've got vaguely earmarked to maybe play with a little more in the future, mostly because Scott's squished and that gives me all sorts of possibilities to play with, but for now it's just an odd scene with Scott in trouble because who doesn't love those?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. See The World</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt from onereyofstarlight: shuffle playlist and write a drabble for the song that comes up with Lady Penelope. (Song: Orinoco Flow by Enya)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>
  <em>From the North to the South, Ebudæ into Khartoum<br/>From the deep sea of Clouds to the island of the moon<br/>Carry me on the waves to the lands I've never been<br/>Carry me on the waves to the lands I've never seen<br/>We can sail, we can sail with the Orinoco Flow<br/>We can sail, we can sail<br/>(Sail away, sail away, sail away)<br/></em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>FAB2 was, of course the height of luxury. A Creighton-Ward could be seen with nothing less, and the pink yacht gracefully proclaimed elegance, class and pure good taste to anyone who laid eyes on her curvaceous hull.</p>
<p>Monaco was a frequent port for her; Penelope was well-used to the extravagance exuded from every boat, ship and yacht that passed the high requirements for a mooring, not to mention the unashamed flaunting of wealth on all sides. As much as one stood out, one also blended in as simply another personage with more money than could ever be used in a single lifetime. Or several, for that matter.</p>
<p>It was, almost laughably, <em>safe</em>. As the holder of a platinum-access, no holds barred, mooring pass, FAB2 could sidle into the impressive yet secure port whenever she so chose, to the point that it was almost - <em>almost</em> - a go-to if the yacht had been part of a recent investigation. <em>Almost</em> because complacency breeds contempt, as they say.</p>
<p>Monaco was not, however, the only port Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward frequented. Far from it; a retreat onto the open waves was sometimes just what a Lady needed - for health reasons, of course. There was nothing quite like the sea air to clear one's sinuses and freshen up one's skin, as long as one stayed out of the salt spray. Salt water could do <em>terrible</em> things to one's hair.</p>
<p>FAB2, to the surprise of many if they ever knew, had an impressive travel history. Moreso than FAB1, although the dear car did often receive assistance of either a plane or a boat to travel abroad, if only to pacify the paperwork upon entrance to each country, so perhaps that was not quite a fair comparison.</p>
<p>She had a map, which denoted all the known ports of the world. Tracy Island was carefully not listed, and all logs of moorings there were kept strictly in her memory - and Parker's, of course - but every known port was carefully marked. Silver - it should really be grey, but grey was such a <em>dull</em> colour - was used for the names of all the ports she had yet to visit. Those that had played host to FAB2 and her owner were listed in a delightful pink to match the yacht's hull.</p>
<p>It was a hobby, she would tell people. After all, the world was such a fascinating place. She simply had to visit them all - although particularly wonderous ports must be revisited.</p>
<p>Some of those revisits were business-related - most of them - but that was for Penelope, secret agent, to keep close to her chest. Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, world-famous socialite, had no such engagements. Of course.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>She ended up more TOS than TAG - again; I seem incapable of writing TAG!Penelope - but it was fun exploring FAB2 for a change!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Irresponsible Adults</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from kylorr81: "Have you ever lied to me?", "Aren't you supposed to be the adult?" and "This is where you impress me, right?" with Alan, Penelope and John</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Aren't you supposed to be the adult?" Alan had no idea what was going on, except there was alcohol, a drunk brother, and a tipsy English aristocrat giggling away after a few too many flutes of champagne.</p>
<p>John. Sensible, reliable, least embarrassing brother. The only one Alan had never seen drink more than one, single, beer. The one he'd been looking forwards to a nice break in England with after Lady Penelope had invited them both over.</p>
<p>He hadn't been allowed near the alcohol. Something about 'too young' and all the other refusals big brothers churned out whenever the stuff came out and he so much as glanced its way. Watching John, who had no co-ordination at all - and that was saying something considering how clumsy he always was immediately upon return to Earth - was a far greater deterrent.</p>
<p>This was the first time he'd actually seen any of his brothers completely drunk - he'd heard stories, mostly John ribbing Scott or Virgil, while Gordon claimed innocence despite video footage to the contrary - and it was not cool. It was the exact <em>opposite</em> of cool, and Alan had no intentions at all of being anything as remotely uncool as that, ever.</p>
<p>"This is where you impress me, right?" Lady P giggled. John, flushed as red as his hair, nodded gamely and stood up.</p>
<p>Reflexes and a sixth sense for danger had Alan lunging to catch him before he collapsed onto the plush rug beneath their feet.</p>
<p>"Alan, I'm fine." John tried to wave him off, but just overbalanced them both and sent them crashing to the floor. Alan groaned.</p>
<p>"Sit. Stay." He might as well have been talking to Sherbet. Sherbet might even have <em>obeyed</em> him.</p>
<p>"I'm <em>fine</em>, Alan," John repeated, but he wasn't looking at Alan. More at something just over his left shoulder. A quick glance showed nothing there. "Have I ever lied to you?"</p>
<p>"I don't know," Alan muttered. "<em>Have</em> you ever lied to me?" It was sarcasm. All his brothers had lied to him at least once, if only 'for his own good'. Alan understood why, even if he didn't agree.</p>
<p>But right now, John wasn't lying, John was just - unbelievably - drunk and had no idea what he was saying. With a groan and a heave, Alan lugged him back onto the sofa next to Lady Penelope before giving up on any reasonable conversation - or entertainment.</p>
<p>Where was Parker hiding? Maybe he could persuade the man to let him take FAB1 out for another spin.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Technically there was an 'or' or two in that prompt, but I smushed it all together because I like the challenge... and a challenge this one was! Still, got some nice John&amp;Penny for a change - I need to write more with those two; I love that brotp - and one poor, unlucky Alan thrown into the mix!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Shower</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from Just-Another-Flygirl: "I hope you have a cold shower" with Scott and Virgil.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Around him, the wind was howling. Waves and rain lashed at him in equal measure, soaking him until he forgot what <em>dry</em> felt like. Somehow, at some point, his flight suit's thermal regulator had gone offline, leaving Scott frozen, soaked, and thoroughly miserable. A fact not helped by the knowledge that his brother was warmly tucked away inside a heated Thunderbird, perfectly dry and toasty.</p>
<p>"I hope <em>you</em> have a cold shower when we get back," he grumbled uncharitably under his breath as he helped yet another passenger from the downed plane onto the waiting seats lowered by the hovering Thunderbird Two.</p>
<p>Virgil chuckled in his ear. "Considering how warm it is back home? I'd be glad to."</p>
<p>Scott huffed, although the part of him that wasn't frozen to the bone and jealous of the warm cockpit was glad Virgil wasn't down here in these conditions. Gordon was possibly the only brother he might wish it upon, and that was purely because Gordon's uniform was <em>designed</em> for a dunking. Scott's was not.</p>
<p>But Gordon was off helping a capsized fisherman the other side of the world, and these passengers weren't in a position to wait for Thunderbird Four to be available again, so here Scott was, balanced on a sinking plane in the cold and the wet and trying very hard not to be grumpy about it.</p>
<p>"How many more?" Virgil asked, back to business, and Scott did a quick headcount as the filled seats rose up into the green belly above him.</p>
<p>"Six more. Just one more load."</p>
<p>"F.A.B." The comm channel hung open, and Scott frowned. "Virgil?"</p>
<p>"Why don't you come up with them?" his brother suggested. "Ride home in Two."</p>
<p>"I'll be fine." Ride home in Two? As much as Scott respected his brother's 'bird, he'd much rather race home in One and grab a nice hot shower.</p>
<p>Virgil made a disagreeing noise over the comms. "Your thermal regulator is offline and you've been out there a long time. Get up here and dry off."</p>
<p>"Virgil-" He was interrupted by a familiar sound, the VTOL of his own 'bird switching out for rear thrusters. Even with the howling wind and waves, it was impossible to miss when Thunderbird One abruptly darted away, out of sight almost immediately. "Hey!"</p>
<p>"Looks like you're riding home with me, big brother." Virgil sounded smug. Scott was going to murder John. Or EOS. Or all three of them. "Come on, get up here and dry off. You know you've got a spare uniform on board Two."</p>
<p>"It's not like I have much of a choice, is it?" Scott growled, chivvying the last passengers onto the seats as they lowered and begrudgingly taking one for himself.</p>
<p>Inside Thunderbird Two was no warmer than out, Scott found to his dismay as he shivered. The rescued passengers all bundled up together in a corner of the module, where Virgil was wrapping them in thermal blankets and heat packs, before plying them with warm drinks.</p>
<p>Well, if Virgil was busy there, he'd get them headed for home, via the requested drop off point for their rescuees. If he could get off the seat.</p>
<p>Why was it so <em>cold</em> in here?</p>
<p>"You don't look so good." And when had Virgil appeared in front of him?</p>
<p>His brother didn't wait for him to formulate a response to his observation, an arm wrapping around his back and bringing him first to his feet, and then leading him out of the module, towards-</p>
<p>Oh.</p>
<p>Scott could barely blink before he was bundled into Thunderbird Two's shower, uniform and all, where warm water was already running.</p>
<p>"Your spare uniform is by the door," Virgil told him. "I've got this; you warm up."</p>
<p>Instinct told Scott to protest, but the warmth of the water was <em>heavenly</em> and all he managed was a mumbled <em>F.A.B.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This was somewhat inspired by the weather out my window when I was writing...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Sing To Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from janetm74: "He's been gone for quite a while", "Spare change for the poor and lonely" and "Sing to me, please."</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Virgil was going to put his brother on a leash. It waas not the first time he'd thought it, and it was not going to be the last, but normally the hypothetical leash was required to keep Gordon in check. Occasionally Alan got too boisterous and needed reigning in. John just got lost in the digital world which led to him being left behind somewhere in the real one.</p>
<p>Scott? Scott was normally on the other end of those leashes, keeping his brothers close and always a split-second away from making noises of distress like just about any mother animal if any of them left his sight. Virgil didn't have to worry about Scott running off, because Scott was always too busy making sure <em>he</em> didn't run off.</p>
<p>Except he'd blinked and Scott had gone. Even in the packed crowd at the mall, his brother should have been easy enough to spot with his height and the commanding air he could never quite turn off. But that gelled head of hair was nowhere to be seen, there was no sea of bodies subconsciously parting like the Red Sea for a man who didn't even notice the power he held over crowds.</p>
<p>If it was any other brother, there might be some reluctance in admitting he'd <em>lost</em> one. With Scott, Virgil just wanted him <em>found</em>.</p>
<p>"John, you there?"</p>
<p>"I'm here, Virgil," his brother replied, instantly appearing from his communicator. "What's wrong?"</p>
<p>"Could you track Scott? He disappeared on me, and he's been gone for quite a while." By Scott standards, anyway. There was probably a perfectly simple explanation for it, but Virgil had been told too many times when he was younger to be careful, and that having money always made them a target. He hadn't <em>heard</em> any commotion, and Scott certainly wouldn't have gone down without a fight, but it was disconcerting, to say the least.</p>
<p>"That's unlike him," John frowned. "Tracking his signal now."</p>
<p>Virgil waited, scanning the hubbub around him in case Scott decided to reappear. He didn't, but John started laughing.</p>
<p>"I've got him, Virgil."</p>
<p>"Where is he?" The laughter was reassuring. Wherever Scott was, he clearly wasn't in any trouble. Still, Virgil would feel a lot happier once he'd laid eyes on him again.</p>
<p>"Take the next exit on your left."</p>
<p>Doing as instructed, Virgil blinked as he left the busy building to come face to face with a large sign, strung out between two lampposts.</p>
<p><em>SPaRE cHANgE FOr THE PoOR aNd lONElY?</em> it asked in handwritten, uneven letters. Beneath it was a bucket, and behind it was a cluster of children.</p>
<p>And Scott.</p>
<p>He hadn't been noticed yet, so Virgil slunk back around the corner to watch as the group laughed and giggled at his brother, who was grinning at them.</p>
<p>Virgil couldn't help the fond roll of his eyes. Big Brother Scott had found a group of unsupervised children. He just couldn't help himself, could he?</p>
<p>Scott was good with kids. Always had been, and Virgil was never sure if it was something he'd gained with four younger brothers, or if it was something he'd been born with. Privately, Virgil thought he'd make a good father one day, if he ever managed to settle down. But in the meantime, he made a fantastic big brother figure for this gaggle of apparently unaccompanied children, and as he listened he realised they were trying to teach him a song.</p>
<p>Nothing complicated, although it was nothing Virgil had heard before, and he wondered if the children had made it up. Scott seemed game enough to learn, at least, even if there was a small baulk at the suggestion they sing it in front of a crowd. Carefully hidden from the children, but not so easy to hide from the quietly watching Virgil.</p>
<p>He didn't make his presence known until the song was thoroughly taught, and the kids started tugging at Scott, trying to persuade him to find people to listen to them.</p>
<p>His big brother could sing - hell, all of them could - but Virgil couldn't remember the last time he'd sung. Even John was easier to coax into singing than Scott, who was always content just to listen. Nursery rhymes and lullabies had ceased as they'd got older - or when they moved to the villa with soundproofed rooms - and Virgil got a sudden feeling of nostalgia.</p>
<p>"Come on, let's find someone!" They were yanking on Scott's arm quite hard when Virgil stepped out of the shadows. "We've got to sing to someone!"</p>
<p>"How about me?" he offered. The kids all surged with delight at the sight of him - an audience - but his eyes were on Scott, who looked somewhere between sheepish and a deer caught in headlights. "Sing to me, please?"</p>
<p>Shoulders slumped, and blue eyes held a surrender before they flicked back to the children - none of whom reached past his waist in height.</p>
<p>"Okay."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Taken</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from such-a-random-rambler: "You passed out for like an hour" with John</p>
<p>John in the firing line?  This is unusual, and knowing my muse, he’s going to slip out of it like he always does.  But let’s see what fun and games we get from this one.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The groan was full of pain, but it was music to Scott's ears. The clinking of metallic shackles was less to his tastes, but considering it was the first sign of life his brother had shown since they'd got there, Scott was more than willing to cling to the positives.</p>
<p>The negatives were many, and looming, but Scott would deal with those as they came.</p>
<p>John always liked to swear in languages that weren't English, primarily so Grandma couldn't call him out on it. She, like the rest of them, knew what he was doing, but with no proof - John knew <em>exactly</em> what languages she knew and always made sure to avoid them - his crafty little brother got away with it every time.</p>
<p>This particular collection sounded like they might be Welsh, if Scott was any judge of languages at all. He was probably entirely wrong, but that didn't matter because they were accompanied by the opening of bright turquoise eyes, which looked decidedly miffed.</p>
<p>Trust John to find himself chained up in a cell and decide that the best reaction to display was <em>miffed</em>. Scott himself had done a lot more swearing - mostly in English, sorry Grandma - and frustrated yelling upon his own return to consciousness.</p>
<p>"Are you okay?" he asked, rather than muse on <em>that</em> any further. "You passed out for like an hour." The lack of an exact time frame galled him - precision hard-learnt in the air force - but it was the best estimate he had.</p>
<p>"Fine," John said, projecting an air that dared anyone to think he was remotely rattled by their unwilling change of location. Scott knew better, but didn't dare comment. "I- What happened to <em>you</em>?"</p>
<p>The astronaut's aura of calm shattered, and Scott could do nothing but grin at him. There was no mirror in their new accommodations, but he knew he had to look awful; thugs with fists and the knife he was trying really hard to forget about before he panicked had seen to that one.</p>
<p>"Disagreement with our hosts." He would have shrugged if even the idea of doing so didn't send phantom pain lancing trough him. "Apparently I wasn't co-operative enough for their tastes."</p>
<p>And if they so much as tried to lay a hand on his little brother, he would be even less so.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Equality</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt from janetm74: shuffle playlist and write a drabble for the song that comes up with Alan. (Song: In The Flesh by Pink Floyd).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>
  <em>So ya thought ya</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Might like to go to the show?</em>
  <br/>
  <em>To feel the warm thrill of confusion</em>
  <br/>
  <em>That space cadet glow</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Tell me, is something eluding you, sunshine?</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Is this not what you expected to see?</em>
  <br/>
  <em>If you wanna find out what's behind these cold eyes</em>
  <br/>
  <em>You'll just have to claw your way through this disguise</em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>For as long as he remembered, Alan had always dreamt of two things: going to space, and standing shoulder to shoulder with his brothers. The second one, over time, morphed into the burning desire to join International Rescue and prove that being the youngest didn't make him any less capable.</p>
<p>And he'd done it. He'd done both of them. Space was just a hop away in his not-so-little red rocket, and the famous IR blue of his uniform proclaimed loud and clear that he, just like his big brothers, was International Rescue. He was one of them.</p>
<p>Then she died.</p>
<p>They all had it. That first death, that first hand they'd failed to reach in time, the first body cooling in their arms. He knew that now.</p>
<p>He didn't then. They warned him that it was hard. They warned him that it was thankless - there was no glory in the practicality of saving lives, even if it sounded glamorous. It was blood, sweat, and even tears. Alan had thought he'd known death. He was down three grandparents and both parents, after all. That was plenty of experience.</p>
<p>The woman, twice his age at least, died as he pulled her out from the rubble. She'd been talking, then something had slipped, and then she wasn't talking any more.</p>
<p>For all that his brothers had warned that sometimes, there was nothing they could do, they'd forgotten to mention the haunting. The way ash grey skin splattered with crimson and blankly staring eyes were there every time he blinked. The way her hand tightened in his nightmares, dragging him down with her when he tried to pull her up. The way her terrified voice screamed <em>failure</em> and <em>you killed me</em> if there was nothing else to hear.</p>
<p>Alan had thought he'd known death. He hadn't.</p>
<p>He didn't dare think that again, even though he'd lost count of the body count (he didn't dare confess to his brothers he'd lost count of how many he'd failed to save; he couldn't face the disappointment on their faces. Surely his brothers all remembered every single one). If he got complacent, death would remind him otherwise, and Alan lived in terror that the next body would be one of his brothers.</p>
<p>Those same brothers who saw the signs and eventually, apologetically, confessed that they had those, too. That first death who lived on the back of their eyelids, in their dreams, in the silence. That first death which never went away.</p>
<p>In that, at least, he was finally equal with his brothers.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Not Serious</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from Gumnut: "Take off your shirt" and "You gave me a black eye" with Virgil.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He knew it was coming. Hard not to when Scott had been yelling over their comms from the other side of the world. How Scott found time to fuss over their rescues while in the middle of his own was a mystery, although Virgil chalked it up to his eldest brother's need to keep them all safe.</p>
<p>Their job wasn't safe. There were things they could do to lessen the risks - things they did, because none of them were planning on losing any more family any time soon - but it was inherently dangerous, and sometimes there was nothing that could be done about it.</p>
<p>"Infirmary."</p>
<p>Scott didn't even give him the chance to make his way there of his own accord. Smudged with dirt from his own rescue, it was clear he'd skipped the post-rescue shower and simply thrown his civvies back on before barrelling his way to Thunderbird Two's hangar. There was ash still in his hair, merging seamlessly with the grey strands until he looked salt-and-pepper grey all over.</p>
<p>"You should clean up," he retorted, carefully stepping off of the lowered hatch and doing his best to ignore the twinge of pain from his ribs. Blue eyes flashed; when he was in this mood, nothing got past Scott.</p>
<p>"Virgil-"</p>
<p>He ignored his big brother, turning away from all six foot plus of lithe muscle and stiffly heading for the elevator that would ferry him straight to the infirmary in question.</p>
<p>"Virgil!" Scott hated being ignored, and it was no surprise at all when he caught up in two long strides. "You're bleeding."</p>
<p>Thank you, captain obvious. Virgil could feel it seeping through the gauze he'd pressed to the wound in the danger zone.</p>
<p>"It's nothing serious." It wouldn't even need stitches. Scott was, as usual, freaking out far more than was warranted.</p>
<p>"I'll be the judge of that," Scott declared, apparently conveniently forgetting which one of them had the most medical training. "Take off your shirt."</p>
<p>"I will do," Virgil agreed. "In the infirmary." His compliance earned him a few moments of blessed freedom from Scott's need to be sure, but that respite expired the moment they passed through the doors.</p>
<p>"Shirt."</p>
<p>Some battles weren't worth fighting. Scott was still grubby, ash-smeared and faux salt and pepper grey, but Virgil knew he wouldn't go anywhere until he was entirely reassured that he was fine.</p>
<p>"It's not deep," he promised as he peeled the top of his uniform off and batted Scott's hands away as his worried big brother tried to help. A careful removal of his undershirt revealed the gauze he'd taped to the scratch in his side, and the surrounding bruising.</p>
<p>The gauze came away slowly, the adhesive peeling away with a shhck, and Virgil tossed it in the recycler. Scott's hands - gloved and the only part of his body that seemed clean - nudged his away as big brother inspected the wound for himself. Virgil rolled his eyes, but let him; it really wasn't bad, and if Scott even tried to ground him for it, he had an entire list of occasions his brother had gone out with worse.</p>
<p>His brow furrowed, but he stayed silent as he finished his inspection and started to treat it.</p>
<p>"So I'm not about to drop dead?" Virgil asked pointedly when he was done. The glare Scott shot him had barely any energy behind it. "I said it wasn't serious."</p>
<p>"Remember when 'it wasn't serious' and then you passed out on me?" Scott retorted pointedly.</p>
<p>Virgil remembered. In his defence, there had been adrenaline and he hadn't noticed he was bleeding. "I said that before I saw it," he reminded Scott. "This time, I'd already performed first aid on the site." He gestured towards the gauze in the recycler.</p>
<p>"You passed out on me," Scott repeated. "In your exosuit." And gave me a black eye, he didn't say, but Virgil remembered that being the first thing he noticed when he woke up again. "Sorry if your definition of serious isn't the same as mine."</p>
<p>There were many things Virgil could say to that, primarily pulling examples of all the times Scott had outright lied about his injuries - and not the 'didn't notice' innocent lie. The 'this is going to kill me if it's not treated but I can still move for now so it doesn't count' lie. He said none of them, although he did raise a single eyebrow and watched a split-second flash of something slightly sheepish pass through blue eyes. Instead, he tied the loose sleeves of his uniform around his waist so they didn't tangle with his legs.</p>
<p>"Well now that's cleared up and we're on the same page, I'm going to get cleaned up," he declared. "You should, too, unless you want Gordon asking if your hair dye washed out."</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>Virgil smirked. "Look in a mirror, bro."</p>
<p>Leaving Scott to his sudden frantic search for something reflective enough to count, he made his way back down to the locker room. Scott's overprotectiveness was annoying at times - most of the time - but Virgil knew it was only because he worried.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Scott snuck in because he could - in my defence, the prompts needed a second person!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Refrigerator</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from purfectpurple: "You've gone to the bathroom fifty times today" and "Is it just me or is it cold as hell in here?".</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gordon jumped up and down on the spot, rubbing his own arms furiously. A cloud of mist hovered in front of his face, shrinking and growing in time to his breaths but never disappearing completely.</p>
<p>"Is it just me or is it cold as hell in here?" he asked. He kept the sarcasm light, no need to lay it on too thick. It still got him a growl from his big brother, who seemed decidedly put-out about the whole situation.</p>
<p>To be fair, Gordon wasn't totally on board with the whole 'being turned into human icicles' deal, either. For starters, it wasn't exactly pleasant. There was also the whole deal his entire family had with things like snow and ice after that avalanche killed Mom and, yeah. No, Gordon was really not happy about this whole thing.</p>
<p>Surely industrial freezers were supposed to be openable from the inside? Wasn't this a huge safety risk - as the pair of them were demonstrating right now. One call for help, two Tracys responding, and then bang, lights' out, freezer door locked and barred. The last straw - the one that had Scott snarly and Gordon internally just as furious even if he wasn't showing it like his brother - was that they'd found the source of the cry for help.</p>
<p>A recording. The whole thing was a trap, and considering their environment, Gordon didn't think anyone was planning on coming to let them out any time soon. There was, of course, the whole deal with Virgil being the other end of the danger zone. Optimists like Alan might think that was a good thing - he'd find them sooner or later, preferably sooner, while they were more human than icicle.</p>
<p>For Gordon - and no doubt Scott even more so - it was a point of concern. Virgil was good, but he was a pacifist and with the freezer disrupting comms, they had no way of warning him for trouble. Whether or not he'd have any idea there was at least one party feeling less than charitable towards them was entirely down to whether or not John figured out that their trapping wasn't accidental. He hoped he did.</p>
<p>Another roar of frustration had Scott throwing himself at the door again. Gordon couldn't <em>see</em> him, but he could hear him, and feel the vibrations through his feet as impact after impact did nothing.</p>
<p>"Not the best accommodations I've ever stayed in," he commented - keep the mood light, don't let it get heavy with too much frustration. One of them had to keep a cool head - although preferably not literally, given their current situation - and Scott was clearly far from that right now. "A bit on the chilly side, and they don't even have a bathroom! What if one of us needs to go?"</p>
<p>"I swear you've gone to the bathroom fifty times today!" Scott snapped. "Don't."</p>
<p>So Scott was in <em>that</em> mood, was he - and for the record, he had <em>not</em> gone fifty times. Unless they were counting since the last time Scott slept in his bed as a 'day', in which case that was entirely possible.</p>
<p>"We need to get out of here," his brother continued. "There has to be some way to get this door open."</p>
<p>"The laser's a no-go?" He'd seen the red light earlier.</p>
<p>Scott sighed. "Whatever this freezer's made of, my hand-held laser can't get through. I'm not even sure Virgil's could."</p>
<p>"Great." Not. Neither of them carried anything more destructive with them - they were <em>rescue</em> operatives, not military, now. He rubbed his arms again. "Well, I vote that while we try and figure out a plan, we conserve energy and body heat."</p>
<p>Another sigh from big brother, frustrated, but clearly seeing common sense. He heard Scott step towards him, and then there were arms around him, pulling him tight. He reciprocated the gesture with one hand, while the other dug around in Scott's baldric for the - aha! One foil blanket.</p>
<p>It crinkled as he shook it out, and Scott reached out to help him wrap it around the pair of them. It wasn't perfect, but it would buy them a little extra body heat until they could figure out how to escape their icy coffin.</p>
<p>There had to be a way out. There <em>had</em> to be.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Cadet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt from katblu42: shuffle playlist and write a drabble for the song that comes up with Gordon(&amp;Lucille?). (Song: Us and Them by Pink Floyd)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>
  <em>Forward he cried from the rear</em>
  <br/>
  <em>And the front rank died</em>
  <br/>
  <em>And the general sat</em>
  <br/>
  <em>And the lines on the map</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Moved from side to side</em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>WASP was a world away from everything he'd ever known. He was from a family of flyboys, reaching for the sky and beyond. Always, he'd been the odd one out, the one to look down at his feet - past it, to the ocean and its seemingly immeasurable depths. His brothers encouraged him, even - although that should really be <em>especially</em> - Scott, despite the whole Air Force vs WASP thing going on between the different sectors.</p>
<p>He'd always been special. Unique. Mom's little fish, squid to his brothers. The ocean in his blood despite growing up in a landlocked state. But here?</p>
<p>Here, Cadet Tracy wasn't special. Cadet Tracy wasn't unique, wasn't anyone's <em>anything</em>. Just the bottom of the pecking order, along with all the other Cadets scraping the bottom rung, looking to get higher but being ground down by the sharp heel of authority above him.</p>
<p>It was tough. More than tough. It was brutal, and he wondered why Scott had never told him how hard the military life was. But then he remembered Mom. Mom, who had never hidden how difficult his birth had been. Mom, who had told the story over and over again of the newborn who refused to give in despite the odds stacked against him. Mom, who believed in him first.</p>
<p>All too often, they saw Dad in Scott, but Dad wasn't the one who believed in him. That was Mom, and Scott would never have encouraged him to go into the soul-crushing military life if his big brother didn't believe, entirely and whole-heartedly with no reservations, that he could hack it.</p>
<p>Around him, casualty struck. Training accidents, skirmishes with rebels who disagreed with the World Government, World Military, World anything. Bereznik was landlocked, leaving <em>that</em> fight to the land and skies, but it wasn't alone and Cadet Tracy saw things he could never share. But he survived. He survived to see victory over the rebels, he survived to climb the ladder, away from the death sentence of Cadet and up, rung by rung, until some of that crushing-heel authority was his.</p>
<p>There were no Cadets for him to send to their deaths - the skirmishes were over and he never had to learn if he could make that call, sacrifice fresh young blood in the name of justice, of victory - but there were patrols to lead, and so much research to explore.</p>
<p>The hydrofoil was said to be a marvel. He - no longer a nobody, but someone important enough to be known - was given the honour of the trials.</p>
<p><em>Do you see, Mom?</em> he asked. <em>Your little fighting fish kept going. Kept surviving.</em></p>
<p>She watched over him that day.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Astrophysics</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from kylorr81: "That SOOO classifies as a date.", "You hear that? That's the sound of my awesomeness.", "Spare change for the poor and lonely." and "We started with one and now we have seven. You have no chill." with John and Virgil.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Seeing John down on Earth was an unfamiliar sight in the first place, but his brother - uninterested in anything that wasn't celestial, and certainly not in other humans - upon return to Earth had announced that he had a meeting with someone Virgil hadn't heard of. The fact that he was seemingly willingly going in person, rather than his usual virtual attendance, edged from unusual to downright bizarre.</p>
<p>Gordon had laughed, dug up a picture from online with a wolf-whistle, and proclaimed that "that <em>sooo</em> classifies as a date!"</p>
<p>Virgil was less inclined to believe that, especially from the ice-cold glare John had sent their little brother's way, but it didn't change the fact that it was rather uncharacteristic of him, to say the least. Whatever this meeting was, it definitely meant something to his brother.</p>
<p>Unlike Gordon, Virgil was willing to play the <em>supportive</em> younger brother role. With Scott's head unhappily stuck in business work he couldn't wrangle out of - even for his rarely seen in person younger brother - he was the oldest of John's siblings around. "Do you want a ride?" he'd offered.</p>
<p>"Thank you, Virgil," John had accepted, a ghost of a smile on his lips as they'd both ignored the squid still hooting about dates. "I'd appreciate that."</p>
<p>And so there he was, settling his 'bird on a stretch of unused tarmac on the university campus. The surrounding buildings were old, graffiti from the turn of the millennium faint but still legible if he focused. <em>Spare change for the poor and lonely?</em> was on one wall, a scribbled depiction of a bucket underneath it with a sad face. No doubt that dated from when people still carried coins in their pockets.</p>
<p>The rest of the campus was far more updated, glossy buildings in vibrant colours and holographic interfaces in place of old, potentially unstable walls and peeling notice boards. "As you're here, you might as well join us," John had invited, and Virgil had nothing else to do - at least, nothing else that trumped the curiosity he had over this odd meeting - so he was following his older brother as the ginger unerringly found his way to a blocky bright red building.</p>
<p><em>Department of Astrophysics</em>, it declared. Considering it was John, that was hardly a surprise, although Virgil mentally prepared himself to not understand a word of what he was going to hear. Astronomy, he knew a bit about. Physics, he knew a lot about. Astrophysics… not so much. The basics, but nothing anywhere near John's level.</p>
<p>"We started with one and now we have seven!" An unfamiliar voice floated down the corridor, loud and slightly exasperated. "You have no chill!"</p>
<p>"You hear that?" a second, equally loud, voice retorted. "That's the sound of my awesomeness."</p>
<p>A door slid open as they approached, and John strode straight in. "Appropriate that there was no noise," he said flatly; it was the sort of cutting remark that was entirely John when he was comfortable with someone, and Virgil hadn't thought he could get any more curious, but there were only so many people his introverted brother was that comfortable with and he thought he knew all of them.</p>
<p>Trailing into the room behind John, he caught sight of electric blue hair. The owner of the shock - gelled up not too dissimilarly to an anime protagonist's - was grinning widely, a tablet in hand. The holographic display showed what looked like a cluster of stars.</p>
<p>"Hey, Ginge!" <em>Ginge?</em> "Long time no see!"</p>
<p>"I can leave."</p>
<p>"But you won't." That voice belonged to a woman with long, brown hair. Compared to her companion, it was almost plain. "You want to see these too much." She waved her own tablet at him and Virgil hovered by the door as John walked over almost eagerly. "Look! There was one when we called you, but Az found another six!"</p>
<p>"Seven!" the blue-haired one - Az - declared. "There's another in the thirty-fifth quadrant."</p>
<p>"You really have no chill," the woman sighed. "Well, John? What do you think?"</p>
<p>Virgil realised he'd been completely and utterly forgotten in the face of whatever new discovery was being gushed over by the three astrophysicists. John, despite being on Earth, seemed completely in his element as he spoke the foreign language of astrophysics jargon, and Virgil decided that despite the earlier invitation, he was better off waiting by Thunderbird Two.</p>
<p>Maybe he could take a closer look at that ancient graffiti.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Memories of Stars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt from scribeofred: shuffle playlist and write a drabble for the song that comes up with Scott. (Song: Paint The Sky With Stars by Enya).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>
  <em>Suddenly before my eyes</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Hues of indigo arise</em>
  <br/>
  <em>With them how my spirit sighs</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Paint the sky with stars</em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>Tracy Island was silent. It was the first thing Scott noticed about it, when Dad brought him there for the first time. Gentle waves made barely a noise against the rocks, birds flew too high to be heard, and his brothers were still over in America, trawling through school.</p>
<p>Silence was not something Scott was used to. Not with four younger brothers and the hustle and bustle of constant life passing by in Kansas. That first night, he didn't sleep. Dad had set up a three-sided shelter not far from the little jet they'd flown in on, but Scott had opted to lay out on the ground outside.</p>
<p>He'd never seen so many stars before in his life. Light pollution was a problem that had still never been sorted, and while he had some idea what the night sky looked like, he'd never seen it like <em>this</em>. The murky darkness, punctuated by pinpricks of light in familiar constellations John had taught him, was gone. In its place was a wash of colour - blues and purples and even greens, speckled with enough stars to make it look bright and alive.</p>
<p>Between the stars and the silence, there was no sleep for Scott that first night.</p>
<p>Nearly ten years later, he found himself in that same spot again. The villa's lights were out, the sea was calm and the birds gone to roost. Tomorrow, the Zero-XL would launch. Tomorrow, he'd lead his brothers into the unknown, beyond anything they'd ever imagined, to the edges of the Solar System and - if there was any luck left for their family - Dad.</p>
<p>Dad, who had stayed up with him that first night, naming the stars in the unfamiliar night sky when he asked - so he could teach John, when his younger brother arrived - but otherwise laying in silence beside him. Even at the time, Scott had cherished moments like that - just him and his Dad. After the Zero-X, it had been one of the memories he turned to when everything was too much.</p>
<p>The silence, the stars, and Dad's presence beside him.</p>
<p>They'd be able to do that again, soon. If-</p>
<p>No. No ifs. Not that night. No doubts. They'd swell again in the morning, when everyone looked to him to lead and he had to stand strong with the knowledge that they could fail, but while it was just him and the stars, and Dad's memory?</p>
<p>Soon. They'd be able to look up at the stars, and Dad would remind him of their names if he asked. Everything would be different, but everything would be right.</p>
<p>Soon.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Scream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt from gumnut: ‘“SCOTT!”  He had never heard his name screamed quite like that’</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"SCOTT!"</p>
<p>He had never heard his name screamed quite like that. His name being screamed wasn't <em>new</em>, exactly – he ended up in too many dangerous situations with worried family on the other end of the comms for that – but this? This was new.</p>
<p>This was raw terror, with a side of horror and was that a bit of outrage in there, too? Wow, Virgil was really going all out on the screaming today.</p>
<p>What did he do to end up on the receiving end of that? Virgil wasn't one to scream. Shout, yes. He shouted a lot when he thought he was being an idiot and wouldn't listen otherwise. But scream?</p>
<p>That wasn't like Virgil at all.</p>
<p>Something was biting into his neck. Cool, sharp and a little wet. He tried to shift, to pull away from it because that didn't feel like a good thing at all, but his body didn't respond.</p>
<p>A voice rumbling in his ear, words that didn't make sense. The hum of machinery under his legs. Unfamiliar machinery. Unfamiliar voice.</p>
<p>Virgil was screaming again. Words. Terror. Scott couldn't make out the words but he could hear that his little brother was utterly terrified. He heard his name again.</p>
<p>What was going on?</p>
<p>The machinery got louder, never enough to overpower Virgil's voice but enough to <em>mean</em> something. It definitely meant <em>something</em>, but Scott didn't know what. Should know, but couldn't place.</p>
<p>Like he should know what Virgil was saying. Where he was. What was happening.</p>
<p>That cool sharp digging in further, tighter, up and under his jaw.</p>
<p>A <em>clunk</em> and he couldn't hear Virgil anymore. The voice wasn't rumbling in his ear, either, replaced by heavy breathing. Loud, human. Warm breath on his cheek.</p>
<p>This was wrong. Virgil was screaming but Virgil wasn't here and he didn't know who <em>was</em> but his instincts were screaming that there was something seriously wrong. He needed to be with Virgil, not here.</p>
<p>The machinery beneath him was a roar. An engine. A plane engine and it was taking off. Not a Thunderbird. Not an engine Scott knew.</p>
<p>That cool sharp hadn't left his throat.</p>
<p>The facts were there, but they wouldn't piece themselves together. His mind was slippery, slow.</p>
<p>Drugged?</p>
<p>
  <em>Am I drugged?</em>
</p>
<p>The thought wandered through his mind.</p>
<p>What happened?</p>
<p>Take it from the top.</p>
<p>What did he know?</p>
<p>Rescue. There was a rescue. Germany.</p>
<p>Scott didn't like going to Germany. Nothing wrong with the country, but it was too close.</p>
<p>The voice was talking in his ear again. Still unfamiliar. Another responded, sharp.</p>
<p>Back on track. Rescue. Germany.</p>
<p>Arrived at the danger zone. Left Thunderbird One to go scouting before Two arrived.</p>
<p>Pain.</p>
<p>Virgil. Screaming.</p>
<p>Nothing else. Nothing between <em>pain</em> and Virgil screaming his name. Mind slow, sluggish. Cool sharp under his chin.</p>
<p>Attacked. He must have been attacked. Drugged.</p>
<p>The voices were still talking. He still couldn't understand them. Not English.</p>
<p>Not German.</p>
<p>Cool sharp relaxed, leaving <em>warm wet</em>, and Scott finally remembered what that meant.</p>
<p>Knife.</p>
<p><em>Knives</em>.</p>
<p>Germany. Too close. Talking. Not English. Not German. Knives.</p>
<p>No.</p>
<p>No.</p>
<p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Please, no.</em>
</p>
<p>He couldn't breathe. Air left his lungs but couldn't get in, chest too tight.</p>
<p>Germany bordered Bereznik.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Disjointed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from janetm74: "We're not 'fine'.", "Who are you?", "Be brave, sweetheart." and "Actually, I couldn't care less." with any of the boys and Grandma.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sally had seen a lot in her life, both the good and the bad. This wasn't the first time she'd had a grandson hospitalised, and no doubt it would not be the last, either. Her boys were too determined to save people to stay safe themselves. She was, dreadfully, <em>used to it</em>.</p>
<p>Used to the sterile walls, the smell of <em>clean</em>, the machines beeping and whirring away as they did their jobs to help the too-small figure on the bed. And they were always too small, whichever grandson it was this time. From the lanky teenager still growing into himself to the fragile but threaded with steel second-youngest. The bulky muscle of the middle child to the lithe heights of the second eldest. To the leader of the pack, more and more like his father every day.</p>
<p>Being used to it never made it any easier. Didn't stop her wanting to confront the world and demand <em>why</em> she had to have another grandson injured, frail in a way none of them should ever be.</p>
<p>The hand in hers was limp. He was sleeping, medication aiding his rest. It was better this way. When he'd been awake earlier…</p>
<p>"Who are you?" he'd asked, looking straight at her with big, startled eyes. Their colour was as familiar as it had always been, but something had been different. <em>Missing</em>.</p>
<p>No recognition.</p>
<p>She'd known it was a possibility. A head wound, in exactly the wrong place, and her years and years of experience had whispered the word <em>amnesia</em> as soon as she'd seen it. She'd hoped she was wrong.</p>
<p>Now, she hoped it was only temporary.</p>
<p>The terror in his eyes, when he didn't know her. Didn't know where he was, how he'd got there, why he was hurt. Couldn't even recall his own name. They'd had to sedate him again before he got too wound up.</p>
<p>His brothers were in ruins. Snappy, terrified, needing it to be fixed but not knowing where to even start. "We're not 'fine'!" one of them had snapped in defiance of any attempts at reassurance. "Nothing will be <em>fine</em> unless he recovers!"</p>
<p>The rest of the world didn't know how to deal with the Tracys when one of them was down. <em>Co-dependant</em>. She'd thought it before, realised it over and over again whenever one of the cogs that made up the five of them stalled and left them all out of alignment. They'd been raised to be polite. Respectful.</p>
<p>"Actually, I couldn't care less," one had snarled at a nurse who'd attempted to tell them that the physical injuries would heal just fine. "I care that he doesn't remember us!" Words said in hurt, in pain, in a sense of loss because they just couldn't reconcile the idea that five was down to four. They all cared that physically, he would be fine. That care just paled in comparison to the struggle to comprehend that he couldn't remember anything. Couldn't remember <em>them</em>.</p>
<p>It was going to be a long, difficult journey for all of them, but for one in particular, it would be hell. Sally looked down at her sleeping grandson and squeezed his hand. "Be brave, sweetheart," she murmured. "You'll get through this."</p>
<p>They all would. Somehow.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"Any of the boys". Honestly my brain cycled through three different ones as I was writing this so… pick a brother, I guess?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Knights and Fools</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt from kylorr81: shuffle playlist and write a drabble for the song that comes up with any character. (Song: Cherokee by Europe).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <em>The white man's greed, in search of gold</em><br/>
<em>Made the nation bleed</em><br/>
<em>They lost their faith</em><br/>
<em>And now they had to learn</em><br/>
<em>There was no place to return</em><br/>
<em>Nowhere they could turn.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>There were the men who cared. The men who bled compassion and wrung every last drop of themselves to benefit <em>others</em>. Selfless, heroic, exalted.</p><p>And then there were the others. The ones whose sole priorities revolved around themselves. Selfish, some called them - the same ones who hid in their holes and toted out praise for those who would tear themselves into shreds for those too weak to look out for themselves.</p><p>The fools.</p><p>He was no such fool. There was no place in the world for <em>compassion</em> and <em>kindness</em>. Money was all that mattered. Money, power, and control.</p><p>He wanted those things. He <em>had</em> those things.</p><p>He wanted <em>more</em>.</p><p>The Tracy family, swooping in like knights in shining armour, had too much of it. Too much money, too much power. Too much <em>control. </em>It could have been his. It <em>should</em> have been his, if only Jeff hadn't cut him off.</p><p>Jeff was gone, but the sons could pay for the sins of the father. One day, and one day <em>soon</em>, he would have them. Their fortune, their ships, their luxury little island, and <em>they</em> would be the ones scrabbling in the dirt, reliant on the whims of others.</p><p>Oh, wouldn't that just be a shame.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This one was tough to find a character for, and it's also why it's so short, but the Hood is a pov I like to play around with occasionally and it fit.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Immersive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt from purfectpurple: shuffle playlist and write a drabble for the song that comes up with Virgil. (Song: Space Hotel from Thunderbirds Are Go).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Downtime. Rare, cherished. Not that Virgil didn't enjoy his job - far from it - but being able to fully relax, knowing that there were no callouts about to interrupt his day? It was an almost magical feeling. His brothers were dispersed about the island, each seeking personal space or hunting down a neglected hobby.</p>
<p>Beside him lay his pencils. Strictly organised they were not, but Virgil didn't need or want organisation today. Today was about something different. A break from the routine.</p>
<p>Above him, the sky was a clear blue. High up, wisps of cirrus gave the sight some dimension, some shape. Below - far below - waves lapped against the crags. His back was pressed against other crags, a niche that cradled his body like it had formed for that exact purpose. Maybe it had. He'd first found this spot years ago, when his shoulders weren't quite so broad, but he still fit just as well now as he had back then.</p>
<p>On his lap, a trusty sketchbook. Nothing large, barely bigger than his hand, but it was enough. Today wasn't a day for grand paintings or detailed sketches. Those he did on days when he had to stay in easy access of the den, in or near the house.</p>
<p>Today was a day to just <em>feel</em>. To recline in a natural rock niche with a pencil of undetermined colour smooth between his fingers, a blank canvas of sky, and an arm that moved with no conscious direction.</p>
<p>He kept his eyes on the sky, hand navigating the pencil selection and sketchbook by muscle memory and touch alone. This one, he didn't need to watch as it formed. Didn't <em>want</em> to. Just let his hand glide where it wished, with whatever colour it had blindly picked out.</p>
<p>He wouldn't look until the sky darkened, dusk drawing in and bringing gentle reminders from his stomach that a return for nourishment would be appreciated before too long. Blue shifted towards the purples of night and the first stars winked their way into view. Blindly, he let the sketchbook fall shut and only then did he look down at the pile of pencils.</p>
<p>Blues and purples sat near the top, a spoiler for the most recently selected colours. Fitting, for the night sky. He packed them away, back in the case where they belonged, and gave himself one last moment to breathe before he moved.</p>
<p>Back to the hustle of the villa, four brothers emerging from their own personal endeavours in time to gather around the table and hope the food on offer was edible. It was; John had been baking.</p>
<p>His creation stayed concealed until all the food was devoured and the kitchen put to rights. Unspoken, the five of them dispersed again, back to their willing solitudes of the day, and Virgil settled in his own room. Pencils were put away, and only then, with the sky fully dark, did he let his eyes rest on the page.</p>
<p>Purples, blues. Black. Dark and almost furious; at total odds with his mood all day. A contradiction. In the centre, a single hole of white, where no pencil had ever gone.</p>
<p>The calm within the storm.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well, that was pretty close to home! Very close to home, actually. No lyrics, so I just listened to it and ooh, there's a lot of variation in there, actually.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Broken Pride</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt from malignedangel: shuffle playlist and write a drabble for the song that comes up with Mechanic and/or Hood. (Song: Coast to Coast by Europe).</p>
<p>Warning for brief contemplation of suicide</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>
  <em>When time seems so lonely</em>
  <br/>
  <em>And your days seem too long</em>
  <br/>
  <em>You wonder if you will ever get through</em>
  <br/>
  <em>And still be strong, yeah</em>
  <br/>
  <em>With eyes full of sadness</em>
  <br/>
  <em>You stand on your own</em>
  <br/>
  <em>It tears you apart</em>
  <br/>
  <em>But you know in your heart</em>
  <br/>
  <em>You're not alone</em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>It wasn't even a voice in his head, whispering poisonous words until he lost all sense of humanity. Not now. Not anymore. Those had stopped the moment the implant took route in his brain. What use did the Hood have for honeyed words when he could just order him around like a puppet on a string.</p>
<p>He wasn't himself. His actions, his words, even his <em>thoughts</em> were all an elaborate orchestration. Barely a single corner of his mind was free, the proud engineer huddled up inside and screaming at everything his body did, his voice said. Because it wasn't him, but it was, now. None of his attempts to escape were good enough, and the hold just got tighter. Crueller.</p>
<p>Even once it was over, he couldn't say he recognised himself. He was free, through the tireless genius of the man he'd tried so hard to emulate, to <em>impress</em>, before the Hood sabotaged him and shattered his pride in his own work. He was free, now, but eight years was a long time and most of it had been spent trapped in his mind. There was no pride in anything he'd made. The mechas - dragonfly, scorpion, ray, the Tracys had nicknamed them - were crude. Violent. His creations were ugly, corrupt. There was nothing there he wanted to see again.</p>
<p>The body modifications. Self-mutilation. There was nothing <em>good</em> about them, but machinery buried in flesh was much, much harder to destroy. Sometimes, the thought crossed his mind about ending it all. Removing the stain he'd become from the beautiful world he'd always wanted to explore further.</p>
<p>But International Rescue wouldn't stand for that. Right from the moment he stepped foot on Thunderbird Three, unsure how he'd got there but determined to put right his wrong, he'd been one of theirs<em>.</em></p>
<p>Not like he'd been the Hood's. Not a pet on a leash. But one of their own, one they'd fight for. One they'd protect no matter what it cost them. Motivations varied - the eldest brother had made no secret that he was tolerated only because of his usefulness, while the rest of the family had hovered in varying degrees between that and Brains' open arms - but he was <em>theirs</em>.</p>
<p>They gave him his life back. Brains freed him but it was International Rescue who let him live again. An open offer of a home, admiration at what he could create. What he could <em>do</em>. Funding, even if he didn't join them, as long as he didn't make weapons. Whatever he needed to get his life back. A new life.</p>
<p>(It didn't sink in fully. Not until Gordon asked if he could make 'non-zappy' ray mechas to help search and recovery underwater. Not until Virgil extoled the all-terrain genius of the scorpions. Until <em>Scott,</em> last to accept him, to trust him, asked if the dragonfly mechas could be adapted for mountain-rescue support.</p>
<p>He'd cried, tears he couldn't hide fast enough but weren't commented on. Then he'd said yes, because the Hood had ruined those designs but here, salvation was being offered not just for him, but for the creations he'd never been proud of).</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Storm Shelter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from louthestarspeaker: "Way to go, kid.", "I found the candles, we'll be alright." and "You're never this quiet, what's wrong?" with Virgil.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kansas storms were loud and angry. Thunder crashed and wind howled as lightning split the sky and clouds debated funnelling down into something all the more dangerous. Virgil didn't mind it, beyond the wariness that was just common sense to feel - only fools shrugged off tornado warnings, especially when the weather got like this. In fact, part of him rather wished he could sit by the window and watch. Maybe snap some photos of lightning as it seared across the skyline.</p>
<p>But Scott was away on Scout camp. Gordon had a swim meet and John had been coaxed along to keep Grandma company while she waited for their fish of a brother to be done with the water. Dad was, as always, at work. Virgil had been asked to keep an eye on Alan for just a few hours.</p>
<p>It wasn't the first time. It wouldn't be the last, either, as Scott and John got older with more commitments outside the house and Gordon continued throwing himself into the local pool at the slightest glimmer of opportunity. He didn't have the space bond with Alan that John did, nor the pranking mayhem that Gordon provoked, but Alan liked music, and Virgil liked taking things apart, so between the piano, guitar, and ever more complex toy rockets, they found enough common ground.</p>
<p>This time had them in the basement, a precaution against the weather. It seemed Virgil had also gained a semi-permanent addition to his arm as his five year old brother clung to it like a limpet and kept his face buried. That was unusual; it was far from Alan's first storm and he wasn't usually clingy.</p>
<p>"You're never this quiet," he commented, hearing the thunder rolling away far above them. "What's wrong?"</p>
<p>A mumble.</p>
<p>"Didn't catch that, kid," he coaxed.</p>
<p>Alan shook his head but didn't repeat himself.</p>
<p>It shouldn't be the dark - Alan had never been scared of that, not with John telling him about the wonders of space since the day he was born - but just in case, Virgil reached for the nearby box of emergency candles and shook them lightly so they rattled. The power wasn't out yet, but it was almost inevitable that they'd lose it at some point during the storm.</p>
<p>"I found the candles, we'll be alright," he reassured him.</p>
<p>Another non-committal noise. Finding himself at a loss, he awkwardly wrapped his arm around his little brother and wished someone else was there. Scott could get Alan to do anything, and even John had the magic touch when it came to the youngest. Virgil was decent enough at the big brother thing, or so he liked to think, but the others were <em>better</em>.</p>
<p>"C'mon, Allie," he tried again. "Talk to me?"</p>
<p>"Scott's camping." The mumble was just loud enough for him to hear, and Virgil's shoulders sagged. Camping in this storm was not going to be fun, that was for sure.</p>
<p>"He'll be fine; the leaders will make sure everyone's safe."</p>
<p>Alan made an unconvinced noise, and Virgil frowned.</p>
<p>"Trust Scott," he nudged. "You know he won't let a storm stop him."</p>
<p>"Promise?" Alan asked, pulling his head away from Virgil's arm to give him big blue eyes. They maybe made Virgil melt a little.</p>
<p>"Promise. So why don't we play a game while it passes, so you can tell him you were fine, too?"</p>
<p>It took a moment, but eventually Alan peeled away from him entirely. "Okay," he agreed.</p>
<p>Virgil rewarded him with a grin. "Way to go, kid. Now, what do you want to play?"</p>
<p>"Munchkin!"</p>
<p>Ah yes. The latest craze. Thank you, Gordon, for introducing Alan to the concept. Still, if it kept Alan distracted until the storm passed, Virgil could do that.</p>
<p>"Munchkin it is."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Virgil is my tricky brother, so clearly the best way to approach this was to write him with the other one I struggle with. Still, I'm never going to get better without trying!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. An Uncomfortable Meeting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from janetm74: "Must be a coincidence" with Virgil and Law (One Piece).</p>
<p>Another crossover one! This is basically an outside pov but using Scott as said outside pov.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Scott was pretty sure he was dead. There were some things the human body just couldn't survive, and he could distinctly see his leg - yes, that was <em>definitely</em> his leg - floating in the air, covered in blood and in no way attached to his body.</p>
<p>Speaking of his body… that was his body, over there. Also covered in blood, and diced up into what looked rather like neat cubes. Weirdly, there didn't seem to be anywhere near <em>enough</em> blood for that, especially the neck. In fact, the neck didn't seem to have any blood on it at all.</p>
<p>He blinked.</p>
<p>And then blinked again, because <em>what?</em> If he was dead - and he had to be, after <em>that</em> point-blank explosion and now his body floating in pieces across the air - he shouldn't be able to blink, should he? Dead people's eyelids didn't move.</p>
<p>It also… didn't hurt. Which was a point towards him being dead, because he was fairly sure being in pieces was supposed to hurt. At least his neck.</p>
<p>"He's awake, Captain!" The voice came from somewhere behind him. Scott tried to turn his head to look, but apparently being just a floating head stopped that from being an option.</p>
<p>"Doesn't matter," a second voice drawled. "I'm almost done."</p>
<p>Done? Done with what? Was this an afterlife, because if so Scott wasn't sure he liked it.</p>
<p>His other leg sailed up to join his hips, and Scott blinked again because they just merged together seamlessly. The urge to kick out crept up on him, and he followed through with it.</p>
<p>His leg moved.</p>
<p>
  <em>What?</em>
</p>
<p>"Hold still," the second voice ordered. A man came into view - if Scott had to guess, he'd put them at about the same height, and probably similar age, too - but that was about where the similarities ended. A messy shock of black hair that clearly hadn't been brushed for days, sharp golden eyes - actual gold, were they contacts? - and a similarly unkempt goatee gave off the instinctive urge to <em>not trust</em> this man.</p>
<p>The golden earrings - two small hoops per ear - and flashes of black ink on the exposed skin of his arms and collarbones did nothing to pacify the urge. He looked like he wouldn't be out of place in those old pirate films.</p>
<p>Must be a coincidence. Just an aesthetic. <em>Pirates</em> had stopped existing in that sense a long time ago.</p>
<p>His arms floated towards his torso, and just as his leg before them, melded seamlessly back together. His final leg followed suit, and then it was just his head that remained separate.</p>
<p>A palm pressed against his chest - and now he was concentrating, he could <em>feel</em> that - and then-</p>
<p>"<em>Mes.</em>"</p>
<p><em>Pain. </em>A sharp jolt right over his heart and right now Scott had no idea if he was dead or just in a very vivid nightmare but some sort of squishy cube burst out the front of his chest and <em>was that his heart?</em></p>
<p>"I saved your life," the man said. The hand now cradling the gelatinous lump that seemed to contain a living, beating heart had more tattoos. A letter on each finger - H, T, A, E. He couldn't see the thumb from that angle. He didn't need to.</p>
<p>
  <em>DEATH.</em>
</p>
<p><em>Grim Reaper</em> felt like a more appropriate assumption than <em>pirate</em> right now.</p>
<p>The index finger of the other hand pointed straight at his head, then flicked towards his body. Scott's sight blurred, and he got the distinct idea that he was <em>moving</em>, and then he was sitting up, fully intact and-</p>
<p>Well, mostly intact. His arm - bandaged, uniform still stained with blood, and his mind briefly flashed to the explosion he hadn't got away from in time - moved and his hand found a hole in his chest.</p>
<p>"So answer my questions," the man continued, sitting down on a chair opposite him - he was sat on a bed, Scott realised. A bed in what looked like some sort of infirmary. "Who do you work for?" A blue tint in his vision Scott hadn't even registered vanished, and at the same time an awareness of dulled but present pain returned.</p>
<p>There was a grinning face on the chest of the man's clothes. Simple, but with a grin that was anything but reassuring and spokes sticking out of it that made the whole thing look like a grinning virus symbol. A man next to him - ginger hair, hat hiding his eyes - wore the same symbol in miniature on the left breast of his off-white uniform. It wasn't a familiar one.</p>
<p>"Who are <em>you</em>?" he demanded, finding his voice and somehow surprised when it came out raspy.</p>
<p>The calculating look that slid onto the man's face didn't look friendly. Not in the least.</p>
<p>"You don't recognise me?" Scott wracked his brain, but no, he definitely didn't recognise the man - or whatever technology he'd just used to reassemble him like a jigsaw and then take his heart out. "Trafalgar Law."</p>
<p>"You know," the ginger interjected, before Scott could react, his own face twisted into a smug grin. "The Surgeon of Death."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, so this startled a laugh out of me when I first saw it, and I was musing possibilities for this crossover for an entire day before writing it. There was literally so much I could have done with this, depending on how AU I wanted to go (ideas ranged from IR being a neutral org in OP, to Flevance being a thing in TAG, to 'let's just go straight up medieval AU') but I decided to stick with short and mostly-simple.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. There's No Difference Between the Ocean and the Stars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from onereyofstarlight: "do you miss the ocean?" with Gordon asking.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Hey, John?"</p>
<p>John had developed a keen sense for what sort of call his brothers were putting in by the tone of their voice. It was a vital skill, especially when it came to this particular brother, who should sometimes be ignored entirely. <em>Hey, John,</em> could mean anything, but the tone it was asked in…</p>
<p>While John wasn't the big brother of choice for this particular little brother, there were the rare occasions where they really were the other's first port of call. This sounded like one such occasion.</p>
<p>"Yes, Gordon?" he asked, letting the comm link open up. Gordon's hair was wet and windswept - no doubt he was outside somewhere - but he looked thoughtful.</p>
<p>"I was thinking," the blond mused, too quietly, too seriously for the steadfast retort of <em>well that's a first</em>, so John let the opportunity slip by. Gordon, despite his personal penchant for cheering others up with jokes, preferred hard facts to wit in this mood. That was always when he ended up calling John. "Do you miss the ocean, up there?"</p>
<p>"Miss it?" John repeated.</p>
<p>"Well, you're barely ever here," Gordon shrugged. "There's no ocean in space." Technically there <em>were</em> oceans on some other celestial bodies, but that wasn't what Gordon was talking about.</p>
<p>It wasn't something John had ever considered. He - like the rest of them - had grown up in land-locked Kansas, and the call of the ocean had only become familiar once they'd moved to Tracy Island. Like Gordon had said, he was barely ever there, so in a sense, <em>should</em> he miss it? It wasn't <em>home</em> to him, not like Thunderbird Five and space or, less literally and more emotionally, wherever his family was.</p>
<p>And yet, could he really say he missed anything he saw just as regularly as ever? Water made up over two thirds of the Earth's surface, and Thunderbird Five's geostationary orbit kept her above the Pacific. So no, he didn't miss it, because he hadn't <em>lost</em> it.</p>
<p>"Do you miss the stars?" he eventually replied, in lieu of trying to find the words explain it.</p>
<p>"Why would I?" Gordon asked, face screwed up in confusion as he no doubt tried to find the link. "They're pretty and all, but they're there every night unless it's cloudy and I'm not a space nerd like you."</p>
<p>"Exactly," John agreed. Gordon scowled at him, clearly still not getting it.</p>
<p>"Gonna have to be clearer than that, spaceman."</p>
<p>Amused, John let a smile cross his lips. "The ocean is for me what the stars are for you, fishboy."</p>
<p>There was a pause, and then Gordon let out a huff of laughter.</p>
<p>"I should have seen that coming, shouldn't I?"</p>
<p>John's smile widened just a little. "You should have."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Thorn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from scribeofred: "when did that happen?" with Scott.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Scott knew that sometimes, adrenaline spikes could hide things. More than sometimes - it was pretty frequent, at least for them and their vocation. Cuts, scrapes, even broken bones could sometimes go unmissed until adrenaline wore off and the pain set in.</p>
<p>For his part, there was a twinge in his left arm, not far above his elbow, that was starting to make itself known. It was just a twinge, so he ignored it; twinges didn't affect flying and he wanted to get home and clean up before the next callout, whenever that would be.</p>
<p>He should really have learnt by now. It was a solo mission, nothing too extravagant and certainly nothing that had needed Thunderbird Two, which meant there was no Virgil aggressively fussing over the slightest scrapes for fear of invasive bodies and infections, and Scott didn't bother to check himself over, either. Why should he? He didn't remember anything happening; the twinge was probably just a tired muscle. Nothing new. Certainly nothing to worry about.</p>
<p>At least, not until he was approximately two-thirds of the way home, happily tearing through the air well above the Pacific, and his vision blurred. No warning, no <em>reason</em>. Travelling at a solid Mach 16, Scott knew better than to push his luck and instantly engaged autopilot. Vision issues were an absolute <em>no</em> when flying.</p>
<p>Time for a self-assessment to figure out what exactly was going on. There was still no pain, or other symptoms of concern beyond his vision fuzzing in and out of focus, but that twinge in his arm was still present, and Scott's gut led him to explore it tentatively with his fingers.</p>
<p><em>Ow</em>.</p>
<p><em>Now</em> it hurt. He glanced down and blanched. The 'twinge' - which, now he was properly aware of it, was way worse than just a <em>twinge</em> - seemed to be coming from a tear in his uniform. A somewhat bloody one, although not enough to be dripping. Protruding from it was a wicked-looking barb that looked like it might be from some sort of plant, although it was unnervingly large.</p>
<p>"When did that happen?" he wondered out loud, pushing himself to his feet to get the tweezers from the medical kit. He hadn't seen any thorned plants around during the rescue, although admittedly the foliage hadn't been high on his list of things to pay attention to.</p>
<p>His vision blurred again at the movement, and a rush of light-headedness made his head spin as he stumbled to the bottom of the hull. Below him, through the viewing window, the blue-green of the ocean rushed past.</p>
<p>The locker he needed was out of reach unless he stood back up, but attempts to find his feet were met with failure as his vision faded in and out. His arm <em>burned</em>, and he resorted to trying to yank the barb out with his fingers to no avail. It was too deep for his fingers to get a decent purchase.</p>
<p>Tweezers. He needed tweezers. Unable to stand up, he resorted to crawling along the fuselage, aware in the back of his head that Thunderbird One's autopilot would land her in her silo if he didn't override it, and that if he wasn't secure in his pilot chair again by the time they got home there was a painful tumble down the entire length of his 'bird waiting for him.</p>
<p>He had to move fast, or at least scramble back into his seat so that didn't happen. Mach 16 was nothing to scoff at; they'd be back very soon. His body didn't seem to get the memo - vision insisted on continuing to fluctuate, with light-headedness dancing through him every time he moved too quickly, and through it all his arm was loudly reminding him that there was something sharp stuck in it.</p>
<p>Considering the lack of blood loss, Scott suspected the something sharp was also toxic. Either that, or something else was causing the dizziness and encroaching blackouts.</p>
<p>It needed to come <em>out</em> but he could barely see. Could barely <em>move</em>, and that was the bigger issue because he could navigate inside his 'bird with his eyes closed.</p>
<p>Through the hull, he felt the shudder of the engine changing speed, and his stomach dropped. Thunderbird One was decelerating, which meant they were almost home, and if he didn't get back in his seat the thing in his arm was going to be the least of his troubles.</p>
<p>But his vision was all gone now, his head felt lighter than ever and he-</p>
<p>He couldn't.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. Engineers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt from Anonymous: shuffle playlist and write a drabble for the song that comes up with Brains/Mechanic. (Song: Heavy by Linkin Park).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>
  <em>I keep dragging around what's bringing me down</em>
  <br/>
  <em>If I just let go, I'd be set free</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Holding on</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Why is everything so heavy?</em>
  <br/>
  <em>You say that I'm paranoid</em>
  <br/>
  <em>But I'm pretty sure the world is out to get me</em>
  <br/>
  <em>It's not like I make the choice</em>
  <br/>
  <em>To let my mind stay so fucking messy</em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>Freedom didn't come easily. It wasn't quite as simple as hacking the Hood out of his head and cutting him out of his life for good. Eight years, he'd been trapped. Eight years, he'd been dragged through life like a puppet on a string, and while the sheer relief when he was cut loose was so strong it was almost overpowering, it wasn't enough.</p>
<p>Eight years of nightmare fuel. Eight years of watching everything crash and burn because of things his hands - the Hood's instructions but <em>his hands</em> - had created. Eight years of believing he'd killed not just an innocent man but a hero. <em>The </em>hero.</p>
<p>Except Jeff Tracy might be the world's hero, but he wasn't his. Not back then, and definitely not now. Jeff Tracy hadn't been his inspiration, his drive, and Jeff Tracy hadn't been the one to free him.</p>
<p>That was all one Hiram K. Hackenbacker, "c-call me Brains", first met at a conference ten years ago, before the world knew the man as the mastermind behind the Thunderbirds. Before theworld even knew <em>of </em>the name 'Thunderbird'. One brilliant mind, burning brightly and drawing him in like a moth to a flame.</p>
<p>After the Zero-X, he'd never thought he'd see the man again. Never <em>wanted</em> to, not with failure tarring his hands, and then the Hood had pounced and he was gone. Trapped, for eight long, torturous years, with blood pooling to join the tar.</p>
<p>Brains didn't remember him. That was okay; he wouldn't remember him, either. He'd gained the tattoos, the modifications, later. He'd managed not to be too disappointed about that one. All Brains knew was the monster, the victim, the man tethered to another man's will for far too long.</p>
<p>There was nothing <em>special</em> about him now. Not even <em>good</em>, although he tried to right the wrongs the Hood had made him do. Just a broken man, with a dark past and a bleak future.</p>
<p>Except… Brains thought he <em>was</em> special. Stuttered words of praise, as though he wasn't sure how to give it - wasn't <em>used</em> to giving compliments and considering others an intellectual equal - but convinced he was deserving of such high honour nonetheless. Reassurances, when the darkness of the past eight years tried to swallow him, or the bleakness of his future began to overwhelm him.</p>
<p>Acceptance. Companionship.</p>
<p>Partnership.</p>
<p>He didn't think he was special - broken, perhaps, but not special - but Brains did. And it took time. It took so, so much time, but he got there in the end.</p>
<p><em>They</em> got there.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I don't ship this, but I was willing to give writing it a go anyway (although whether this reads as romantic or just platonic I'll leave to your interpretation). <i>Heavy</i> is also actually a song I associate very strongly with Scott, so it was quite a challenge to get away from him and over to these two instead.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. Eligibility</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from purfectpurple: "this is your fault by the way" with Scott.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Scott did not want to be there. At all. Had he had the choice, he would have declined the opportunity in favour of staying home and playing catch-up with the TI paperwork that was steadily getting more and more overdue.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, some Tracy representation was required at the stupid gathering, and his other brothers - even Gordon - had begged out of it one way or another until he'd found himself unwillingly stuffed into one of his too-expensive suits and toted out to perform for the masses.</p>
<p>Literally.</p>
<p>Charity affairs could be interesting. Lady Penelope, thankfully, managed to keep hers to the sensible contributions of large dinners or auctions, but some of the more <em>eccentric</em> do-gooders thought that the best way to make money was through the embarrassment of famous faces.</p>
<p>Usually, Gordon was up for this sort of thing. Gordon <em>revelled</em> in displays that sane people would call embarrassing, and yet this time there had been an unexpected scheduling clash with an underwater research jaunt that couldn't possibly be put off.</p>
<p>Scott rather suspected he didn't want to be embarrassing himself in front of Lady Penelope, who was present but had managed to pull the right strings to get herself out of any embarrassing displays herself. The blond woman was perched delicately on a chair, eyeing him with some mirth even from the other side of the room. Well, at least someone was amused at his predicament.</p>
<p>John hadn't even begged off. The answer had been a firm <em>no</em>, with threats to disable the space elevator <em>and</em> all the airlocks on Thunderbird Five if anyone tried to drag him down. Virgil had just cringed so badly Scott didn't have the heart to try and push it on him, and as for Alan?</p>
<p>Scott was <em>supposed</em> to be the responsible adult that stopped youngest brothers from doing embarrassing things. He couldn't in good conscious sacrifice the youngest to the claws of the masses for this. Besides, Alan was underage.</p>
<p>"Enjoying yourself?" John's voice sounded in his ear, sounding <em>highly </em>amused. "This is your fault, by the way."</p>
<p>"<em>How?" </em>Scott hissed back. "What did I <em>possibly</em> do to cause this?"</p>
<p>"You <em>do</em> know you're currently considered the most eligible bachelor in the world?"</p>
<p>"<em>What?"</em> No. Scott had <em>not</em> known that, and couldn't say he was pleased about it. "Why?"</p>
<p>"Ask the people that voted," John shrugged. "I wasn't one of them. But if I had to guess, I would say it would have something to do with the Tracy fortune, Tracy Industries, and that little side-gig you've got going of saving the world several times a day. Apparently that has some appeal. Some of them might even like your face."</p>
<p>Nothing like some brotherly compliments.</p>
<p>"That nonsense aside," Scott dismissed, "what does <em>that</em> have to do with <em>this</em>? They didn't even know I'd be here!"</p>
<p>John chuckled. "You're predictable, big brother."</p>
<p>"What's that supposed to mean?"</p>
<p>His annoying little brother simply ended the call.</p>
<p>"<em>John!"</em></p>
<p>"Scott Tracy!" the announcer called, and Scott wilted. On the plus side, no brothers meant they weren't going to be heckling him the whole time.</p>
<p>…Just when he got home, because John was no doubt recording the whole thing.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0034"><h2>34. Save Him</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from ak47stylegirl: "Sorry I'm protective over the things I love" with Alan&amp;Scott.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"<em>ALAN!"</em> Scott screamed, his brother's name being replaced with a wordless sound of outrage, as the blue and red figure toppled down, off of the scaffolding and heading for the ground far too far below them.</p>
<p>Alan had armour in his uniform, one of the insistences Scott had put in place if he was going to start going out on rescues, but that wouldn't save him from that fall.</p>
<p>He didn't even know if it had saved him from the bullet.</p>
<p>While his brain froze in horror, his hands were moving, snagging on the grapple that had been out of reach a moment earlier and firing it at the falling figure. Alan didn't catch it, but it still caught him, coiling around Scott's baby brother and stopping his fall.</p>
<p>His shoulder <em>killed</em>. So did his wrist, his fingers, his <em>arm</em>, but Scott wasn't letting go. Not now, not ever.</p>
<p>Sarcastic applause drew his attention back to the man responsible.</p>
<p>"Well done," the Hood - unfamiliar face, but who else could it be - said. The tone was nothing but patronising. "Dislocating your own arm to free it and catch the dead weight."</p>
<p>Scott <em>snarled</em>.</p>
<p>"But tell me, how long can you hold on? Your brother's entire weight, supported only by a dislocated shoulder." Blue eyes - the same shade as Alan's, the <em>bastard</em> - glittered with something he could only call malice. "You're still stuck. Sooner or later, you'll drop him, and the rest of your brothers are the other side of the planet." A twisted grin. "I'll enjoy this."</p>
<p>He turned on his heel and left, dropping the gun to the floor in the process. It was still smoking.</p>
<p>Scott swallowed. Loath as he was to admit it, the Hood had summed up his situation well; stuck on his knees with one arm trapped in a mess of girders and the other dislocated, he couldn't go anywhere. Below him, Alan hung like a ragdoll. The cable wasn't long enough to let out slowly to lower him to the ground, but his arm was already trembling with the strain.</p>
<p><em>If you can't go down, go up</em>.</p>
<p>He couldn't set Alan down, but could he?</p>
<p>No time for second thoughts. Alan needed to be set down. Alan also no doubt needed medical attention, and Scott had seconds, not minutes, to do something about the situation.</p>
<p>A groan slipped out from between gritted teeth as he flicked the switch to retract the cable, the high-tensile material slithering back into its pack as Alan was drawn back up, towards him. For the most part, it was the simple - but not easy - case of keeping his grip and letting the grapple to all the work. It was only the last part, one-handedly lifting Alan until he could drag him back onto the scaffolding, that poised the challenge.</p>
<p>The strain was intense. The pain was even more so. But Scott was stubborn as all hell when it came to his little brothers, and whatever further damage he inflicted on his arm was more than worth it as he finally, <em>finally</em>, got Alan securely on the metal holding them both up.</p>
<p>"Alan?" he rasped, pain weakening his voice.</p>
<p>"Sc-ott-y?" Quiet. Too quiet. Almost too quiet to hear at all.</p>
<p>Scott dropped his grapple, hearing it clatter against the scaffolding, and tugged his brother closer. One arm was still trapped, but Scott only needed one - even if it was dislocated and being moved by sheer willpower alone - to reach the red, red hole in his brother's uniform.</p>
<p>The bullet had punctured straight through the armour. It had hit low - an indicator that Alan had not been the target (<em>because he hadn't been,</em> a nasty voice hissed in the back of his mind. <em>You were</em>) - and Scott really, really hoped it had missed anything vital.</p>
<p>"Why?" he demanded, fumbling one-handed for his trauma kit and shaking everything out until he had enough gauze and bandage to press against the wound. Alan's scream was almost silent.</p>
<p>"So-rry," he ground out, fighting the pain because he was just as stubborn as the rest of them. "I'm p-pro-<em>tect</em>-ive of t-the things i-I love."</p>
<p>"Alan-" Scott started, but his stupid, brave little brother wasn't done.</p>
<p>"A-and I l-love <em>you</em>, Sco-tty."</p>
<p><em>I love you, too</em>,but he couldn't say the words out loud. The idea of saying them here, <em>now</em>, felt final. Like if he said them, Alan would think he could leave him.</p>
<p>Scott couldn't let that happen.</p>
<p>"Okay," he said instead, trying to keep his voice steady but it wobbled and there was something warm and wet on his cheeks, salt in his mouth. "No more talking. Save your strength, Allie. I'll get us out of here."</p>
<p>How, he didn't know. One arm trapped, one dislocated, and a brother with a bullet in him - or through him, he didn't know; he didn't have the strength to turn Alan to check for an exit wound - and both of them far too high above the ground.</p>
<p>But he would, because Alan had saved him and now he was going to save Alan.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The prompt specified Scott as caretaker, but my muse malfunctioned a little at the idea of letting Scott escape unscathed, so... This happened.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0035"><h2>35. Biographer and Wife</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from janetm74: "You're breaking my heart, babe.", "I don't know why I married you.", "The door's locked." and "Take notes, sweetheart."</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"The door's locked!" It was declared with all the indignation of someone who had just closed an automatically-locking door behind him and was surprised when it wouldn't open again.</p>
<p>"It's one way." The response was slightly sarcastic, accompanied by the rolling of eyes. "To get out, we go <em>this</em> way, Francois."</p>
<p>"Oh, of course. I knew that." Francois Lemaire straightened his back with a huff. "Terribly designed, this place. I mean, honestly, they didn't even give us a map!"</p>
<p>"There are arrows on the floor." His wife rolled her eyes again, arms crossed and fifteen-thousand-Euro designer handbag dangling from her fingertips.</p>
<p>"Ah! When did those get there?"</p>
<p><em>Before we did,</em> Madeline thought, but kept that particular thought to herself. Her darling husband could be such a child at times, and this occasion was no different. Some might think it wouldn't matter if she said it out loud - after all, Francois never seemed to listen to her - but she knew better.</p>
<p>He <em>did</em> listen to her. It was sometimes a battle to get the words out in time before his impulsiveness kicked in and landed them in some sort of trouble, but if she managed to finish a sentence, he <em>did</em> listen.</p>
<p>Honestly, as though she'd marry a man who didn't pay her any attention.</p>
<p>That being said, when it came to his hare-brained schemes, even her voice of reason wasn't enough to stop him.</p>
<p>"Ah hah!" He was fiddling with something on the wall. Madeline wasn't entirely sure what it was, but no doubt it wasn't what he was hoping it was. "Take notes, sweetheart. I'm about to re-route the power to illuminate the magnificent display ahead! Millions of people have walked through these caverns, but I, Francois Lemaire, will be the first to locate the evidence that they were dug out by giants!"</p>
<p>That was only going to end badly. "Francois-"</p>
<p>The lights went out entirely, leaving them in pitch black.</p>
<p>"Oh, well that wasn't supposed to happen," her wayward husband muttered. She rolled her eyes again. It was a common action around Francois. "Who designed it like that?"</p>
<p>"The engineers who didn't want anyone tampering with it," she replied, pulling a torch out of her handbag and turning it on.</p>
<p>"Well that was silly of them," he huffed, before snatching the torch from her and immediately pointing it at the ceiling. "Look! See those deep crevasses - made by the chisels of giants!"</p>
<p>Somehow she doubted it, but she let him have his moment.</p>
<p>"Madeline, roll the camera!"</p>
<p>Her <em>true</em> passion: photography and writing. There was a reason she was her husband's biographer, and not just because no-one else dared follow him into his adventures; in fact, it was how they'd met.</p>
<p>The device was extracted from her handbag and she pointed it at her husband, who beamed loudly before beginning his spiel-to-camera. The actual words she tuned out for the moment, knowing that the recording device would pick it up perfectly for her to listen to later, so she focused on making sure the images were perfect. Those, she couldn't re-record once they'd left.</p>
<p>And it looked like the words might need to be re-recorded, because a loud banging interrupted them as the door behind them was pounded upon. Her husband's tampering had not gone unnoticed, and she prepared herself for the blustering confrontation once they made it through the door.</p>
<p>This was the less fun part of their adventures - the trouble - and it was times like these that the words <em>I don't know why I married you</em>, sometimes slipped off her tongue. Not today, but then today they were simply in a well-constructed and well maintained cave. There was no real danger here, and some autographs and perhaps a slip of money would pacify the irate warden.</p>
<p>It wouldn't be the first time.</p>
<p>Sure enough, a quick conversation, an interjection of a bribe when Francois got too blustery and the warden looked to be getting too angry, and they were being shepherded back out of the cave and into the hustle and bustle of humanity.</p>
<p>"Honestly, the nerve of some people," Francois huffed as he strode towards their car - self-driving and large enough to fit a small plane, of course. "There I am, trying to open their eyes to the wonder of their site and they kick us out! Some people really are cultureless."</p>
<p>"It could have been worse," she commented dryly. "There could have been ducks."</p>
<p>He shuddered. "You're breaking my heart, babe. We don't mention the, urgh, <em>ducks</em>."</p>
<p>"Of course," she agreed pleasantly, knowing that the next time they ended up anywhere remotely muddy or inconvenient, he'd be the one mentioning them again.</p>
<p>Her husband was an idiot, but she wouldn't have him any other way.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A shippy prompt! But with no specified ship it meant I could go play in a sandbox I've had my eye on for a little while - the Lemaires' relationship fascinates me and I'm delighted I got an excuse to poke at them!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0036"><h2>36. Not Everyone Can Be A Hero</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from janetm74: "Your efforts to be the good guy have been so cute but it's time to face reality. You were born to be bad, you'll never be the hero." with Havoc</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Boss was angry, and when the Boss was angry, his words got sharp and she found herself feeling very much like the small orphaned child she'd once been and hated being reminded of. <em>She</em> wasn't the one that had messed up, but they were the Chaos Crew - <em>Havoc-and-Fuse</em> - and one screw up from one of them tarred them both equally.</p>
<p>The Boss had <em>wanted</em> that uranium. Fuse… Fuse had played it off, claimed International Rescue had <em>stopped</em> him, and luckily for both of them, the Boss had bought that lie.</p>
<p>She knew better. The world of technology was her oyster, and on top of that Fuse was her little brother. He couldn't lie to her, and it was only the knowledge that the Boss might well and truly dispose of them if he found out the truth that had her scrambling to keep it covered up.</p>
<p>That Fuse had felt <em>guilty</em>. That he'd felt there was some sort of <em>debt</em> to pay for the Tracy saving his life. The opportunity had been perfect to get rid of one of International Rescue - one of the thorns in the Boss's side - for good. It would have been the man's own fault, anyway; no-one had <em>asked</em> him to save Fuse's life (even if the big sister in her was traitorously grateful he had).</p>
<p>But no, Fuse was weakening, had been showing <em>cracks</em> since the whole Calypso mess, and after today… Well, it wouldn't matter that the Tracy had saved his life, because the Boss would have murdered them both on the spot for his soft, squishy heart.</p>
<p>As the big sister, and therefore the leader of their little family of two, it was time to have some words. The Boss was elsewhere, not that he'd given her specifics but elsewhere wasn't <em>here</em> and that was good enough.</p>
<p>"Are you <em>trying</em> to wreck everything?" she hissed at him. He looked awkwardly away - he'd never done well with being scolded. "Listen, Fuse, your efforts to be the good guy have been so cute but it's time to face reality. You were born to be bad, you'll never be the hero. We work for the Boss, remember?"</p>
<p>"Y-yeah," he cringed. "Sorry, I just-"</p>
<p>"No!" She cut him off. "Just nothing. <em>But</em> nothing. There's blood on your hands, Fuse. Both of our hands, and it's never coming off. All we can do, is stick with the Boss so that it <em>means</em> something."</p>
<p>"I-" he started, but she wasn't done.</p>
<p>"The next time you screw up like that, the blood on your hands is going to be <em>mine</em>. Remember that, Fuse. <em>Mine</em>. Not some do-gooder Tracy who's trying to get himself killed, but <em>me</em>. So buck it up, and remember where you are. <em>Who</em> you are. Who<em> we </em>are. We're the Chaos Crew, Fuse. We're not the heroes, and we'll <em>never</em> be the heroes."</p>
<p>The nod she got was reluctant, tears glimmering in his eyes because despite the hard shell of his armour Fuse was always going to be too damned <em>soft </em>and protecting that gooey centre would always be her job, but it was still a nod and she knew he understood.</p>
<p>No more screw ups. They'd got lucky this time. Havoc had no intention of having to rely on <em>luck</em> again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Chaos Crew time! I'm not their biggest fan, but I do find them quite intriguing to play around with sometimes. There's potential there... if you dig deep enough.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0037"><h2>37. The First Reforging</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from janetm74: "I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can barely fucking breathe because they're gone and it's my fault. And god knows what they're doing to them right now and I'm just sitting here doing nothing!" with Gordon</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gordon enjoyed WASP. Well, <em>enjoy</em> might be the wrong word - skirmishes, battles, and tough orders from Above left many a submariner scarred and broken, and Gordon was not exempt from the harshness of the life - but he fit in. Months at a time beneath the water felt more like <em>home</em> than Kansas had ever been. The only thing missing was his brothers, but even that wasn't a lack.</p><p>He didn't want his brothers here. Alan was too young. Virgil too soft. John too breakable. Scott… he knew Scott could have hacked it - he was Air Force, after all, with their equal levels of skirmishes and battles and too many scars - but did he want his overprotective big brother clucking over him like the smother hen he'd always been while he was trying to prove he could swim with the best of them?</p><p>Normally, the answer to that was hell no. He didn't want to be stuck in Scott's shadow, the base baby just because he had a big, overachieving brother inevitably higher in the ranks trying to hold his hand even though the lifestyle didn't really allow for it (if anyone <em>could</em>, though, it would have been Scott).</p><p>Today, like yesterday and the days, <em>week and a half, </em>before, he wanted that security blanket. He wanted the big brother who could tell him everything was going to be okay and fought the world to make it happen. He'd take being laughed at as the base baby. He'd take the jibes and embarrassment and everything else that came along with it, because it would mean he <em>wasn't alone</em>.</p><p>WASP's front lines weren't the same as on land. There was no way to draw a line in the water and say "this is where we sit". There were territories, but much like the ocean itself, they moved with the tide and a hundred other factors. WASP's front line was wherever the rebel submarines appeared. Whichever craft they attacked.</p><p>Unless you were right in the middle of a pod, you could be the front line any moment, and Gordon had found that out the hard way.</p><p>They'd been boarded. The rebels were vicious, and no doubt had inside intelligence from the ease with which they'd navigated the internal workings of the Manta he'd been assigned to for that mission. His crewmates had been slaughtered. Gordon himself had been left for dead, luck the only grace by which he'd survived the attack.</p><p>He'd still been conscious to hear the screams of the two crewmates that had been taken. Objectively, there was nothing he could have done. Objectively, he was very lucky a Stingray had responded to their distress call in time to save his life, if nothing else.</p><p>The human brain didn't do <em>objectively</em>. The human brain did guilt and hallucinations and self-flagellation until he barely had the facts straight and insomnia was a self-defence while food tasted like death.</p><p>He was still hospitalised. Still recovering physically, still hadn't even started on the mental healing. They hadn't told his family. If he got through, they wouldn't. If he didn't… Well, WASP was no place for a man who couldn't pull himself back together again. So Scott wasn't here, none of his family were here, and all he had was a standard-issue therapist probing to see if he was a lost cause.</p><p>He'd snapped more than once. He was tough, but his steel hadn't been tempered in fire yet. That would come later, once this passed and he pulled himself back together. Like a warrior. Like a <em>Tracy</em>.</p><p>"I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can barely fucking breathe because they're gone and it's my fault!" he'd screamed the first time the therapist visited. "And god knows what they're doing to them right now and I'm just sitting here doing nothing!"</p><p>He wasn't doing nothing. He was <em>healing</em>, but it felt like doing nothing. Maybe if they were all just dead it wouldn't hurt so much. There was nothing to be done for the dead; he'd lost enough precious people already to know that. But alive and taken? The uncertainty of it all was what <em>really</em> hurt.</p><p>They were probably already dead, but there were no bodies to show for it.</p><p>He never saw them again. Never heard their names in passing. He healed, although <em>healed</em> was the wrong word. He rebuilt himself, the first tempering of what would one day be nigh unbreakable steel, and despite wishing for Scott then, never told his family what had happened.</p><p>Alan was too young. Virgil too soft. John too breakable. Scott… Scott had his own demons.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>WASP!Gordon is fun to play with. I got this prompt twice - once for Gordon and once for another character - so there was some creativity required to make sure they don't both follow the same plot!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0038"><h2>38. Bitterness of Failure</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from Anonymous: "I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can barely fucking breathe because they're gone and it's my fault. And god knows what they're doing to them right now and I'm just sitting here doing nothing!" with Scott</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Look after your brothers, Scott.</em>
</p>
<p>The words were engraved in his heart, his bones, his very being. Mom, Dad, Grandma, they'd all said them. Time and time again, varying contexts, differing deliveries <em>depending on the situation, but the same core words, over and over again.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Look after your brothers, Scott.</em>
</p>
<p>And he tried. Hell, he tried. They didn't always make it easy for him, rebelling against his attempts to keep them safe because his 'smothering' was <em>embarrassing, Scott!</em>, or<em> you're not Mom/Dad so stop acting like it!</em> or just purely to be contrary little brothers, but Scott tried, because he was their big brother and he was never, ever, going to let that responsibility slip through his fingers.</p>
<p>Until he did.</p>
<p>It didn't matter that they were outnumbered. It didn't matter that he was just a teenager and they were grown adults. It didn't matter that he'd fought and fought and fought until the butt of a gun slammed into the back of his head and all he saw were stars and space.</p>
<p>It mattered that John and Alan were gone.</p>
<p>It mattered that Virgil and Gordon were scared and he was stuck in the hospital with a nasty concussion that meant he couldn't see straight.</p>
<p>It mattered that the ransom video took three day to arrive, and that Alan's face was blotchy with tears and John was curled around him, skin black and blue, like he'd do anything to keep their youngest brother safe.</p>
<p>That should have been Scott's job. It <em>was</em> Scott's job. Not John's, the brother who would rather stay inside all day with screens than do anything remotely <em>dangerous</em>.</p>
<p>He needed to hold it together. Needed to get the money wired, needed to get their godmother involved without the GDF flaring up because they'd told him they didn't care if they got the money for one brother or two, and if they got a sniff of authorities, he'd get the choice which one got the bullet through the skull.</p>
<p>Attempts to eat were rejected fiercely by his body. Doctors told him it was the concussion. He knew better. Sleep just gave him a front-row seat at another funeral, only this time it was John or Alan pale and waxy, rather than his memories of Mom. He didn't dare close his eyes.</p>
<p>"I can't eat!" he snapped at Grandma when she swept in and prodded him with something entirely bland and supposedly edible. "I can't sleep!" He didn't mean to open the floodgates, but Virgil and Gordon were curled up in a chair together fast asleep and there was <em>too much</em> for Scott to handle alone. "I can barely fucking breathe because they're gone and it's my fault!" If he'd been stronger, faster, <em>better-</em> "And god knows what they're doing to them right now and I'm just sitting here doing nothing!"</p>
<p>Grandma let him rant until he couldn't form words, lost coherency and collapsed into a pile of hysteric tears in her strong, warm, arms.</p>
<p>"We'll get them back, Scotty," she promised, holding him close and carding her fingers through the tufts of hair sticking up around the bandages like he was just a child again. "Trust me, trust your godmother. We'll handle this." There was enough conviction in her voice, the Tracy determination passed down through the generations and matched by their spouses, that Scott couldn't help but try and believe her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Familiar prompt, but I needed to find another angle so I wasn't just using the same plot (which would be very easy to do but I refused). And of course, it's Scott this time! (Why be nice when I can be mean instead?)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0039"><h2>39. Operation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from scribeofred: "I don't want to rush this, I've been waiting a long time for this moment so I want to be able to take my time with you." with Scott.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His head <em>killed</em>. There was a pounding that he equated with a particularly nasty hangover - not that he'd had enough downtime to drink enough for that since he was a teenager - and a dull nausea that was just enough to keep him on edge.</p>
<p>Not the best way to wake up, but that didn't seem to be the worst of it, either. He was sitting on a hard surface - a floor? - but his hands were raised and his wrists were lodging their own complaints alongside his pounding head.</p>
<p>What the hell had happened? Scott wracked his brain, but all he could remember was getting off of Tracy One and heading towards the New York business district for yet another tedious meeting with investors. Certainly nothing <em>there</em> to account for his current predicament, even if he sometimes wished he <em>could </em>drink himself into a stupor after dealing with those people.</p>
<p>He peeled his eyes open, wincing at what little light was seeping into wherever he was. It was still mostly dark, but he could see enough to know that it was small and made of stone.</p>
<p>Well, this screamed <em>kidnapping</em>, which was more than a bit frustrating. The fact that Kayo wasn't already busting him out of there suggested the culprits had at least a little sense, which was mildly concerning.</p>
<p>"Good morning, Scott."</p>
<p>That voice was more than mildly concerning, and he turned his head to see the silhouette of a man near what must be a door.</p>
<p>"I'm glad you've finally decided to join me," the Hood continued, voice honey-silk and dripping with insincerity. "I was beginning to wonder if you weren't as resilient as people said you were."</p>
<p>"What do you want, Hood?" he spat, trying to straighten and hearing chains clinking from above him. His wrists reminded him that they didn't like their current position.</p>
<p>"Why the hurry?" the man dismissed. "Although I must confess this was not my first choice of location. Unfortunately, your friends in the GDF were quite thorough in seizing my assets during my brief time in their hospitality, and the more lavish accommodations are - for now - out of my reach."</p>
<p>There was a quiet <em>click</em> and hidden lights flared on, illuminating the room and man properly. Forced into a sudden squint, Scott was very concerned by the cuffs revealed by his ankles. It didn't take a genius to figure out what those were for.</p>
<p>"Still," the Hood smiled - the cat that had spied a cornered mouse and was planning on playing with its food - "this will suffice."</p>
<p>Scott pulled his feet towards himself - or at least tried to. The action was sluggish at best, and the Hood merely sighed as he caught one and stretched it back out again. Attempts to free himself were stifled by what had to be whatever drugs were in his system causing the hangover-like pounding, and the <em>clank</em> of cuffs sealing shut sent his heart racing.</p>
<p>There was no doubt that - until Kayo arrived, and <em>where was she - </em>he was at the Hood's mercy.</p>
<p>"I suppose I could answer your question," the man hummed thoughtfully. "What do I want? There are many answers, but the most pertinent answer would be…" He paused, and there was that cruel smile again. His left eye glinted oddly in the lighting. "You, Scott Tracy."</p>
<p>"What do you mean?" Dread pooled in his stomach; he'd expected the answer to be more along the lines of <em>International Rescue</em>, or even <em>you'll make the perfect bait for my niece</em>, but not <em>him</em>. Why would the Hood want <em>him</em>?</p>
<p>"Precisely what I said," the Hood replied, withdrawing two objects from a pocket. Both glinted as they were exposed to the light. "Do stay still, won't you? This will only hurt more if you don't."</p>
<p>The smaller item - whatever it was - vanished back into a pocket somewhere. A hand gripped his chin firmly, pressing his head back against the wall. The larger item entered his line of sight and he couldn't stop the flash of fear.</p>
<p>A scalpel.</p>
<p>"Now, I don't want to rush this," the Hood said. Scott threw all his energy into trying to get out. Get <em>away</em>. The drugs and restraints held, and the Hood's eyes were full of amusement. "I've been waiting a long time for this moment, so I want to take my time with you."</p>
<p>The pounding in his head was joined by the rush of his blood as his heartbeat picked up. Faster, faster, and he couldn't breathe as the cool metal kissed his skin.</p>
<p>"But this part of the process won't take long," the man continued, even as the scalpel bit in and blood started to trickle down his skin. "It's only a simple operation."</p>
<p>It bit deeper and Scott gasped, clenching his teeth and trying to move away. The Hood's grip was like a vice.</p>
<p>"Don't struggle," he chided, as though he was talking to a small child. "You don't want me cutting the wrong thing, now, do you? The brain is oh so <em>very</em> delicate, after all.</p>
<p>
  <em>Brain?</em>
</p>
<p>What was the Hood <em>doing</em>, what was he after-</p>
<p>The scalpel dug deeper and a short scream tore itself from his lips.</p>
<p>"Almost done," the Hood assured him, as though that was supposed to be <em>reassuring</em>. Scott didn't want him to succeed in what he was doing, wanted the pain to <em>stop, </em>wanted his family to find him and <em>get him</em> <em>out of here</em>.</p>
<p>The scalpel retreated and he let out another inadvertent gasp. Long, spidery fingers dipped into a pocket and withdrew the smaller object from earlier.</p>
<p>It was a microchip.</p>
<p>Oh. <em>No.</em> No, no, no, no, no, Scott didn't want <em>that</em> going near his brain.</p>
<p>It was enough to flood his system with adrenaline, giving him the strength to wrench his head free from the Hood's grip, if only for a moment before he was recaptured, the grip tighter and harsher than before.</p>
<p>"Too little, too late," the Hood smiled, suddenly in his face with those wide sickly-yellow eyes. The right glinted again, shimmering until the eyeball was replaced by something clearly electronic. "You're going to be <em>mine</em>, Scott Tracy."</p>
<p>Something pressed into the incision on his head, foreign and intrusive, and another scream tore itself from him.</p>
<p>Pain. Frustration. Sheer, unadulterated, <em>terror</em>.</p>
<p>"I'm going to enjoy training you up."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0040"><h2>40. Amateurs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from its-lovelyhappycollection: "Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you just yet." with Gordon.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you just yet," was one of those sentences that automatically inspired the emotion they were telling you not to feel. In this case, it meant that if they weren't planning a quick slit of the throat or bullet through the skull, then they were planning something that was no doubt going to hurt a lot more. It also frequently meant they were confident that there was no rush.</p>
<p>"I wasn't worried at all," he quipped, because these men might have knives and guns but they were also amateurs. "You going to tell me what you <em>are</em> going to do?"</p>
<p>Being tied up with his own grapple pack <em>was</em> rather annoying, to put it mildly. The frantic pings from his comm that they - stupidly - weren't letting him pick up were giving him a headache, too. There was at least one smother-brother on the other end of those. Probably three by now.</p>
<p>Gordon suspected a submarine pod was going to be deployed soon - if it hadn't been already - and then he was going to have to explain to whichever big brother was in it that, yes, he'd been jumped by the guys he was supposed to be saving.</p>
<p>Then he'd be dragged back into training with Kayo, and no doubt Scott would join in, and there would be <em>lectures</em> about letting his guard down.</p>
<p>Oh who was he kidding. That was going to happen the moment they debriefed and he was forced to fess up.</p>
<p>"You're going to teach us how to handle that submarine of yours," the probably-leader of the group told him. He brandished the knife in a way that was probably supposed to be intimidating but really just showed how terrible a grip he had on it.</p>
<p>"Do you know <em>anything</em> about submarines?" Gordon asked them doubtfully. More to the point, did they know anything about IR tech, because the moment they boarded Thunderbird Four, John could lock her down nice and tight and take them straight to the GDF.</p>
<p>"Of course!"</p>
<p>Yeah right. Gordon rolled his eyes. "So you know how to make sure your ballast is balanced, right, because Thunderbird Four doesn't do that automatically for you."</p>
<p>She did, if you turned the training wheels on. Gordon had only insisted on those because none of his brothers had a hope of controlling her on full manual, though. They were never turned on when <em>he</em> was in the cockpit.</p>
<p>"That's easy," the man scoffed.</p>
<p>Liar.</p>
<p>"So why are we <em>here</em>, in a rapidly flooding cave, talking about it, instead of actually being <em>in</em> the submarine that came to escort you gentlemen out of here?" he asked.</p>
<p>"Because <em>you </em>aren't coming with us." Ah, there was the <em>yet</em> part regarding not killing him. They were planning on leaving him to drown. Charming.</p>
<p>"Well that's not very friendly of you," he commented. "But fine, you want to know how to pilot her?"</p>
<p>As if he'd tell them. But he was more than happy for them to board and leave him behind. At least then he could answer his panicked brothers, get the would-be-subnappers bundled up in GDF custody, and wait for pickup.</p>
<p>He had plenty of oxygen in the tank.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This one jumped tracks about halfway through, so I'm still not entirely sure what's actually going on here, but it was fun to write, regardless!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0041"><h2>41. Some Things Never Change</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from anonymous: "Goddamn it, kid, don't you ever listen? Stay still, let me stop the bleeding, okay?" with Scott and Gordon.</p>
<p>Another crossover - not so stealth this time, but it's the same universe as chapter 3 "MIA", just rather later on in events!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>That was a gunshot.</p>
<p>That was a gunshot that was coming from the place he'd agreed to meet 'the kids', aka his apparently shrunken brother and the rest of the 'physically seven because some drug screwed us over' gang.</p>
<p>Even if Gordon didn't know they had some dangerous people a little too interested in them, he'd be panicking because Tracy Luck was just Like That.</p>
<p>Around him, the other people on the street were looking around cautiously, attention caught by the gunshot but with too much self-preservation to investigate. Gordon, on the other hand, had lost the majority of <em>his </em>self-preservation streak years ago and hurtled down the sidewalk, dodging around people that didn't get out of his way fast enough.</p>
<p>The first thing he saw was the sprawled form of an adult man, clearly unconscious. He double-checked, just to be sure, and kicked the gun until it was out of reach - and sight - in case he woke up and decided to fire again.</p>
<p>"Gordon-<em>nii-san</em>!"</p>
<p>And those were the kids. He did a quick headcount - one, two, three… Those were the normal kids. The not-actually-shrunk elementary school kids. They looked terrified.</p>
<p>Where were the others?</p>
<p>"<em>Hey guys,"</em> he said, switching to Japanese. <em>"What-"</em></p>
<p>"<em>He was acting really bizarre, then he pulled out a gun and-and-"</em> The girl broke off with a sob and pointed.</p>
<p>Gordon was moving before he finished following with his eyes, hurrying over to the other three kids she'd pointed to. The boy-who-was-actually-a-teen was talking on his phone in rapid-fire Japanese. The girl-who-was-actually-a-woman was hissing violently in English, on her knees with red hands pressed against an arm.</p>
<p>That arm belonged to the boy-who-was-actually-his-big-brother, and Scott was wincing even as he tried to drag himself to his feet.</p>
<p>"Scott, you need to <em>stay still</em>," the shrunk woman was insisting. Gordon crouched beside her and gently but firmly took over.</p>
<p>Blue eyes snapped to him, wide in the way young children's just <em>were</em>. "Gordon-"</p>
<p>"Goddamn it kid, don't you ever listen?" he interrupted, catching Scott's arm as he tried to pull it back. "Stay still, let me stop the bleeding, okay?"</p>
<p>It wasn't a bad wound, thankfully. A graze rather than a direct hit, but enough to panic Gordon and make him curse their whole situation. The other not-actually-kids knew who he and Scott really were, and the three actually-kids didn't know enough English to understand anything he might say, but he couldn't risk anyone else getting too close to hear.</p>
<p>As far as the rest of the world were concerned, Gordon Tracy only knew Scott Carpenter because he'd given his school a talk on sports careers. If the truth got out…</p>
<p>Well, for now all he could do was try and stop the bleeding while they waited for an ambulance, but this just cemented his decision. Whether his big-turned-little brother liked it or not, he wasn't leaving Japan without Scott.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>At this point, if you don't recognise what's going on I'm just going to assume you don't know the other fandom, which is fair enough. Honestly, I don't expect anyone to! It's <i>Detective Conan</i>, a manga about a teenage detective who got caught up in some Mafia stuff and assassinated, except the assassination failed and he got turned into a kid instead!</p>
<p>Also, I refuse to believe John is the only Tracy who speaks more than one language. Don't ask me why I picked Gordon and Japanese, I don't know, but it works for this fic.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0042"><h2>42. My Brother</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from scribbles97: "What happened to you? What did they say to you?" "Please don't make me tell you." with Scott and Virgil.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were good days, and there were bad days. Then there were sheer disaster days, and it was one of those that Virgil was really hoping would just <em>end</em> already.</p>
<p>The rescue had gone wrong. No-one's fault, no human error, just one of those days where his best just <em>wasn't enough. </em>Virgil hated them, even though he'd been in the rescue business long enough to know that sometimes they just happened. It was rough, he'd be shutting himself away in his art studio for a few hours with <em>really loud music</em> until Scott decided he'd wallowed long enough and shouldered his way in and coaxed him back out.</p>
<p>There would be hot chocolate. Blankets and a movie none of them watched. Just something to do together, to reassure themselves that even though things had gone <em>wrong</em>, not <em>everything</em> had. Because there were still five brothers, and sometimes things were so bad they had to count that as the positive of the day.</p>
<p>But he wasn't clear of the danger zone yet, packing up the last of the pods and trying not to focus on the rust-red that wasn't rust smeared over one of the panels, and most people weren't used to just sucking up the bad days.</p>
<p>Some people had lost family today, and Virgil knew how that <em>hurt</em>. Some people wanted someone to blame, even though it had been one of those days where there was no-one <em>to</em> blame, and IR blue stood out like a beacon.</p>
<p>It was easier to blame the people who had pulled out a dead body than the mountain that had crushed it in the first place, after all.</p>
<p>"He was my brother!" the man snarled, grief channelled into fury as he stormed up the module ramp. "My brother and you <em>let him die</em>."</p>
<p>The man in question had been dead long before they'd even got there.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry for your loss, sir." Virgil <em>was</em> sorry, but the words no doubt still rang hollow. Expected platitudes.</p>
<p>"You don't <em>get </em>it!" the man snapped. He shoved at Virgil, hard enough to force him to take a half-step back to stay on his feet. "He was <em>my brother."</em></p>
<p>Blue eyes were bright with pain. Wild with emotions they couldn't contain, and Virgil was uncomfortably reminded of Scott.</p>
<p>Scott would be like this if their situations were reversed. If <em>he'd</em> lost a little brother to a natural disaster with no productive way to channel his grief. If Scott was the only one left.</p>
<p>The thought hurt. The idea of his strong big brother reduced to <em>this.</em></p>
<p>There was the sudden urge to get <em>home</em>. Drag John down from orbit and be the one running around, gathering all his brothers together so Scott could see them all together and be reassured.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry," he repeated to the man. "There was nothing anyone could have done."</p>
<p>He took the yelling. The tears and the flailing fists as he shepherded the man back out of his 'bird and over to the local services. Passed him over to more people with empty words and no way of bringing his brother back. Still, they could do more for him than he could.</p>
<p>Wild blue eyes stared at him from inside his mind, refusing to let him go so easily. Virgil took a deep breath, and then another. The likeness was uncanny. Unsettling. He needed-</p>
<p>"Virgil?"</p>
<p>A hand landed on his shoulder and he looked up to see Scott, streaked with mud and red, standing in front of him. Blue eyes held a storm, but it wasn't the same. Frustration, not grief.</p>
<p>He needed Scott, and like always, Scott was there.</p>
<p>"What happened to you?" his big brother asked, and Virgil belatedly realised one of the flailing fists had caught his lip, bringing a trickle of blood down his chin. "What did they say to you?"</p>
<p>Those sharp blue eyes were assessing him, but also flicking over to where Virgil had left the man. Virgil didn't answer immediately, continuing the walk back to his Thunderbird. <em>Please don't make me tell you</em>.</p>
<p>He couldn't tell Scott. If he told Scott what the man had said to him, Scott would draw the parallels in his mind without prompting. The panic about how many little brothers he had intact, especially after a day like today, would rise up like an ugly snake, and Virgil didn't want to wrestle with that. Didn't want <em>Scott</em> to wrestle with that.</p>
<p>"Virgil?"</p>
<p>"He lost someone," was all he said.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I would have done Scott's pov for this, except I got this prompt twice with Scott, so I wanted to make sure I went two very different routes with it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0043"><h2>43. Ire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from moonlight-huntress: "What happened to you? What did they say to you?" "Please don't make me tell you." with Kayo and Scott.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She knew she had a temper. It was one of the first things she'd had to accept when she first started learning martial arts. <em>Temper</em> meant rash moves, and rash moves meant the fight was lost. She'd learnt to marshal it, then channel it though other means so it wouldn't flare up at inopportune moments.</p>
<p>The gym on Tracy Island replaced its punching bags frequently.</p>
<p>It was mostly under control now. Flare ups were rare, although shouting matches with a certain overprotective big brother she didn't always see eye-to-eye with were more common.</p>
<p>Right now, she could feel it bubbling up, like magma on the very tip of erupting out of a volcano. The reason, as always, was family.</p>
<p>Specifically, this time was because <em>someone</em> had <em>hurt</em> her family. And she didn't know <em>who</em>.</p>
<p>The GDF had been particularly tight-lipped. Even John hadn't managed to weasel any information out of them, which meant it was all operating on a need-to-know basis that didn't involve anything recorded electronically. Colonel Casey was apologetic but firm. No International Rescue this time.</p>
<p>Kayo was going to be tearing someone <em>apart</em> the moment she knew who, and the person who was going to <em>give</em> her that answer was approaching now, strapped to a hoverchair and looking decidedly the worse for wear.</p>
<p>She would be the first to admit that out of all her brothers, it was Scott that she fought with the most. He smothered too much for her liking, she struck out alone too much for <em>his</em>. Their core principles were the same - protect their family, help the world - but their preferred methods were at times very, very, different and they clashed.</p>
<p>But he was <em>her brother</em>. She was allowed to get scrappy with him. It was, as Gordon would say, a younger sibling's <em>duty</em> to rile the elder ones. Push and pull, all part of the sibling dynamic that kept the Tracy family so tightly knit. Family could fight, could argue, could forgive it all because that was what <em>family</em> did.</p>
<p>Someone who was <em>not</em> family was not afforded the same leeway. No-one <em>else</em> got to pick on Scott - on any of her brothers, but it was Scott approaching looking like he'd lost a fight with a bear or several - and that was a message she intended on making very clear.</p>
<p>"What happened to you?" she demanded, running the last few paces and putting her hands on the arms of the hoverchair. He didn't reply, didn't even look up to meet her eyes where she was leaning over him, and she shot a glower at the GDF flyer behind him. They'd been tight-lipped. "What did they say to you?"</p>
<p>Still no answer, and the first pulse of magma spilled over the rim. "Scott!" Unthinking, she grabbed at his shoulder, only for a shudder of pain to run through him. She pulled her hand back sharply, swallowing around the desire to apologise for her slip. "Scott, <em>tell me</em>. I need to know what the security breach was!"</p>
<p>Partially true. She knew <em>where</em> it was, just not how it had happened. Or <em>who</em>.</p>
<p>"Please don't make me tell you." His voice was small, weak. Nothing like the big brother she regularly got into shouting matches with. The sound of it was enough to freeze the top of the magma, although it didn't stop the rest of it from churning furiously below the surface.</p>
<p>"Scott, I <em>need to know</em>," she pleaded. "What if it happens again? What if it's Virgil next time? Alan?" She had to <em>protect</em> her brothers, and if that meant making sure whoever was behind this couldn't strike again…</p>
<p>His head moved and she found herself looking into his blue eyes. Still powerful, still all-knowing <em>big brother</em>, reading more than she wanted to.</p>
<p>"The GDF know," he told her. "I told Colonel Casey. She has the report."</p>
<p>He'd tell the GDF before her? But no, that wasn't what he was saying, was it? Scott Tracy, <em>ever</em> the overprotective big brother. He told his godmother, the woman he'd grown up with as his Aunt, rather than tell his <em>little sister</em>.</p>
<p>"I'll ask her, then," she snapped. "John and EOS will find the report. You know they will. So why won't you just <em>tell me</em>?"</p>
<p>He just looked at her, and she ground her teeth.</p>
<p>"<em>Scott.</em>"</p>
<p>"It doesn't matter," he dismissed. "Let's just go home, Kayo."</p>
<p>The hoverchair continued its advance, nudging her out the way, and she stared at her brother's retreating back in confused frustration.</p>
<p>What did he mean, <em>it didn't matter</em>?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Kayo is a very unusual character for me to write, I have to admit, but she was in the prompt, so I wrote her! I absolutely do not ship Scayo, so this - and any other time I write Kayo with any of the boys - is purely familial.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0044"><h2>44. Family</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drabble challenge from moonlight-huntress: "Why didn't you tell us you'd been hit? You almost died." with Kayo.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A soft bed under her was not what she'd been expecting to wake up to, although in hindsight it was pretty obvious where her brothers were going to dump her after she stumbled out of Shadow and collapsed.</p>
<p>Also therefore unsurprisingly, there were five bodies slumped around the room in various positions, four of them clearly sleeping off their own exhaustion. It had been a difficult rescue, that was for sure. Alan was curled up mostly on the bed by her feet - the chair he was nominally supposed to be sat in was tipping alarmingly, and she wondered when it would fall over. Gordon was drooling away where he'd slumped over the neighbouring bed. Virgil and Scott were sitting sentry in their own chairs - or had been, before exhaustion overtook them - and Kayo rolled her eyes fondly at all four boys before her eyes landed on her sole awake companion.</p>
<p>"How are you feeling, dear?" Grandma asked her. The older woman was the only one sitting upright, rather than slumped over in some ridiculous position.</p>
<p>Kayo grimaced at her. There was definitely a lecture in there somewhere. Even if she hadn't been on the receiving end of it before, she'd heard it enough times directed at her brothers. "Sore."</p>
<p>Steely blue eyes regarded her in that no-nonsense way only Sally Tracy had perfected. "I'd say that's a little bit of an understatement," she commented. With the absence of her father, there was only one person in the world that could make Kayo feel <em>small, </em>and it was the grandmother next to her. "Two broken ribs, a broken arm, and a gash that required twelve stitches, Kayo. That doesn't include all the other contusions from your crash landing." She paused, and Kayo knew the disappointment was inbound. "Why didn't you tell us you'd been hit? You almost died."</p>
<p>"It's my job to protect them," she replied instantly. "If they knew, they'd have tried to help." Her brothers would have been in the line of fire because of <em>her</em>.</p>
<p>Grandma's eyes softened. "Thank you for looking out for them," she said. "But remember, Kayo, you're part of this family, too."</p>
<p>With four of her brothers surrounding her bed, that wasn't easy to forget.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Two Kayo prompts in a row! This one was short because I was tired (and also Kayo isn't easy for me to write), but I still like it.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading!<br/>Tsari</p></blockquote></div></div>
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